ornia 
al 

J 


LIBRARY     . 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OE  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    Robert    E.    Easton 


^^OD    LldKAKl 


SELECTIONS 


FROM    THE 


WORKS   OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR. 


SELECTIONS 


FROM  THE 


WORKS   OF  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 


WITH 


SOME   ACCOUNT   OF  THE   AUTHOR 
AND   HIS   WRITINGS. 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN  AND   COMPANY. 
1863. 


RIVERSIDE,   Cambridge: 

9TERE0TYPBD    AND    PRINTED   BY    H.    0.   HOUGHTON. 


CONTENTS. 

— f— 

PAGE 

Life  of  Jeremy  Taylor 7 

The  Day  of  Judgment 31 

Prayer 55 

Pardon  of  Sin 70 

Godly  Fear 72 

Human  Weakness 78 

Faith 79 

Lukewarmness  and  Zeal 81 

The  Epicure's  Feast 87 

Intemperance 98 

Marriage 107 

The  Atheist 131 

The  Tongue 133 

Idle  Talk 135 

Jesting 138 

Common  Swearing 140 

Flattery 142 

Consolation 143 

The  Spirit  of  Grace 146 

The  Decline  of  Christendom 150 

The  Glory  of  God 150 

Death-bed  Repentance 152 

Deceitfulness  of  the  Heart 154 

Faith  and  Patience 162 

The  Humiliation  of  Christ 165 

Triumphs  of  Christianity 168 

Afflictions  of  the  Church 172 

The  Righteous  Oppressed 174 

Real  and  Apparent  Happiness 178 

MartjTdom 180 

The  Progress  of  Souls 183 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Inexperienced  Christian 184 

The  Sorrows  of  the  Godly 185 

The  Goodness  of  God 186 

The  Danger  of  Prosperity 189 

Mercy  and  Judgment 190 

Primitive  Piety 1 94 

Growth  in  Grace 196 

Growth  in  Sin 199 

Worldly  Possessions 205 

Excellence  of  the  Soul 214 

The  Rewards  of  Virtue 216 

Religion  aud  Government 218 

Hj^pocrisj' 220 

Christ's  Disciples 222 

The  Miracles  of  the  Divine  Mercy 223 

National  Adversity 232 

Evangelical  Righteousness 234 

Watchfulness 236 

Pity 238 

The  Hope  of  Man 239 

The  Resurrection 240 

Resurrection  of  Sinners 244 

The  Divine  Bounty 245 

Sympathy 250 

Restraint  of  the  Passions 250 

The  Soul's  Memory 252 

Female  Piety 253 

The  Shortness  of  Life 257 

The  Miseries  of  Life 271 

Reason  and  Discretion 277 

Charity 280 

Time 282 

Immoderate  Grief. 282 

The  Ephesian  Matron 284 

Education 288 

Advantages  of  Sickness 290 

Daily  Prayer   293 

Toleration 294 

The  Presence  of  God 296 

Quiet  Religion 302 

The  Imitation  of  Christ 304 


SOME   ACCOUNT 

OF    THE    LIFE   AND    WRITINGS    OF 

JEREMY  TAYLOR* 


Jeremy  Taylor  was  the  son  of  a  barber,  and 
was  born  at  Cambridfre  in  the  year  1613.  He  was 
brought  up  in  the  free-school  there,  and  was  ripe 
for  the  university  before  custom  would  allow  of  his 
admittance ;  but  by  the  time  he  was  thirteen  years 
old  he  was  entered  into  Caius  College.  Had  he 
lived  among  the  ancient  pagans,  he  had  been  ush- 
ered into  the  world  with  a  miracle,  and  swans  must 
have  danced  and  sung  at  his  birth ;  and  he  must 
have  been  a  great  hero,  and  no  less  than  the  son  of 
Apollo,  the  god  of  wisdom  and  eloquence.t 

He  was  a  man  long  before  he  was  of  age,  and 
knew  little  more  of  the  state  of  childhood  than  its 
innocency  and  pleasantness.  From  the  university, 
by  that  time  he  was  Master  of  Arts,  he  removed  to 

*  This  account  consists  chiefly  of  Dr.  Rust's  Sermon,  preached 
at  Taylor's  funeral.  For  the  minuter  details  the  reader  is  refer- 
red to  Heber's  Life  of  Taylor. 

t  Anthony  Wood,  spcakinjj  of  his  birth,  says,  "  Jeremj'  Tay- 
lor tumbled  into  the  lap  of  the  muses  at  Cambridge." 


8  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS 

London,  and  became  public  lecturer  in  the  church 
of  St.  Paul's,  where  he  preached  to  the  admiration 
and  astonishment  of  his  auditory,  and  by  his  florid 
and  youthful  beauty,  and  sweet  and  pleasant  air,  and 
sublime  and  raised  discourses,  he  made  his  hearers 
take  him  for  some  young  angel,  newly  descended 
from  the  visions  of  glory.  The  fame  of  this  new 
star,  that  outshone  all  the  rest  of  the  firmament, 
quickly  came  to  the  notice  of  the  great  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,*  who  would  needs  have  him  preach 
before  him,  which  he  performed  not  less  to  his  won- 
der than  satisfaction  ;  his  discourse  was  beyond  ex- 
ception and  beyond  imitation :  yet  the  wise  prelate 
thought  him  too  young ;  but  the  great  youth  hum- 
bly begged  his  Grace  to  pardon  that  fault,  and  prom- 
ised, if  he  lived,  he  would  mend  it.  However,  the 
grand  patron  of  learning  and  ingeniiity  thought  it 
for  the  advantage  of  the  world,  that  such  mighty 
parts  should  be  afforded  better  opportunities  of  study 
and  improvement  than  a  course  of  constant  preach- 
ing would  allow  of ;  and  to  that  purpose  he  placed 
him  in  All-Souls  College,  in  Oxford  ;  where  love  and 
admiration  still  waited  upon  him  :  which,  so  long 
as  there  is  any  spark  of  ingenuity  in  the  breasts 
of  men,  must  needs  be  the  inseparable  attendants  of 
so  extraordinary  a  worth  and  sweetness.  He  had 
not  been  long  here,  before  my  Lord  of  Canterbury 
bestowed  upon  him  the  rectory  of  Uppingham  in 
Rutlandshire,  and  soon  after  preferred  him  to  be 
chaplain  to  King  Charles  the  Martyr,  of  blessed  and 
immortal  memory.     Thus  were  preferments  heaped 

*  Laud. 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  9 

upon  him,  but  still  less  than  his  deserts ;  and  that 
not  through  the  fault  of  his  great  masters,  but  be- 
cause the  amplest  honors  and  rewards  were  poor 
and  inconsiderable  compared  with  the  greatness  of 
his  worth  and  merit. 

This  great  man  had  no  sooner  launched  into  the 
world,  but  a  fearful  tempest  arose,  and  a  barbarous 
and  uimatural  war  disturbed  a  long  and  uninter- 
rupted peace  and  tranquillity,  and  brought  all  things 
into  disorder  and  confusion.  But  his  religion  taught 
him  to  be  loyal,  and  engaged  him  on  his  prince's 
side,  whose  cause  and  quarrel  he  always  owned  and 
maintained  with  a  great  courage  and  constancy:  till 
at  last  he  and  his  little  fortune  were  shipwrecked  in 
that  great  hurricane  that  overturned  both  Church 
and  State.  This  fatal  storm  cast  him  ashore  in  a 
private  corner  of  the  world,  and  a  tender  Providence 
shrouded  him  under  her  wings,  and  the  prophet  was 
fed  in  the  wilderness ;  and  his  great  worthiness  pro- 
cured him  friends,  that  supplied  him  with  bread  and 
necessaries.  In  this  solitude  he  began  to  write  those 
excellent  Discourses,  which  are  enough  of  them- 
selves to  furnish  a  library,  and  will  be  famous  to 
all  succeeding  generations  for  their  greatness  of 
wit,  and  profoundness  of  judgment,  and  richness  of 
fimcy,  and  clearness  of  expression,  and  copiousness 
of  invention,  and  general  usefulness  to  all  the  pur- 
poses of  a  Ciiristian.  And  by  these  he  soon  got  a 
great  reputation  among  all  persons  of  judgment  and 
indifferency,  and  his  name  will  grow  greater  still  as 
the  world  grows  better  and  viaser. 

When  he  had  spent  some  years  in  this  retirement, 


10  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

it  pleased  God  to  visit  his  family  with  sickness,  and 
to  take  to  himself  the  dear  pledges  of  his  favor, — 
three  sons  of  great  hopes  and  expectations, — within 
the  space  of  two  or  three  months  :  and  though  he 
had  learned  a  quiet  submission  unto  the  divine  will, 
yet  the  affliction  touched  him  so  sensibly,  that  it 
made  him  desirous  to  leave  the  country ;  and  going 
to  London,  he  there  met  my  Lord  Conway,  a  person 
of  great  honor  and  generosity,  who  making  him  a 
kind  proffer,  the  good  man  embraced  it;  and  that 
brought  him  over  into  Ireland,  and  settled  him  at 
Portmore,  a  place  made  for  study  and  contemplation, 
which  he,  therefore,  dearly  loved ;  and  here  he  wrote 
his  "  Cases  of  Conscience,"  a  book  that  is  able  alone 
to  give  its  author  immortality. 

By  this  time  the  wheel  of  Providence  brought 
about  the  king's  happy  restoration,  and  there  began 
a  new  world,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the 
face  of  the  waters,  and  out  of  a  confused  chaos 
brought  forth  beauty  and  order,  and  all  the  three 
nations  were  inspired  with  a  new  life,  and  became 
drunk  with  an  excess  of  joy :  among  the  rest  this 
loyal  subject  went  over  to  congratulate  the  prince 
and  people's  happiness,  and  bear  a  part  in  the  uni- 
versal triumph. 

It  was  not  long  ere  his  sacred  Majesty  began  the 
settlement  of  the  Church,  and  the  great  Doctor  Jer- 
emy Taylor  was  resolved  upon  for  the  bishopric  of 
Down  and  Connor ;  and  not  long  after,  Dromore  was 
added  to  it ;  and  it  was  but  reasonable  that  the  king 
and  Church  should  consider  their  champion,  and  re- 
ward the  pains  and  sufferings  he  underwent  in  the 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  11 

defence  of  their  cause  and  honor.  With  what  care 
and  faithfukiess  he  discharged  his  office,  we  are  all 
his  witnesses  ;  what  good  rules  and  directions  he 
gave  his  clergy,  and  how  he  taught  us  the  practice 
of  them  by  his  own  example.  Upon  his  coming 
over  bishop,  he  was  made  a  privy-counsellor ;  and 
the  University  of  Dublin  gave  him  their  testimony 
by  recommending  him  for  their  vice-chancellor : 
which  honorable  office  he  kept  to  his  dying  day. 

During  his  being  in  this  see,  he  wrote  several  ex- 
cellent discourses,  particularly  his  "  Dissuasive  from 
Popery,"  which  was  received  by  a  general  approba- 
tion ;  and  a  "  Vindication  "  of  it  from  some  imper- 
tinent cavillers,  that  pretend  to  answer  books  when 
there  is  nothing  towards  it  more  than  the  very  title- 
page.  This  great  prelate  improved  his  talent  with 
a  mighty  industry,  and  managed  his  stewardship 
rarely  well ;  and  his  Master,  when  he  called  for  his 
accounts,  found  him  busy  and  at  his  work,  and  em- 
ployed upon  an  excellent  subject,  "A  Discourse 
upon  the  Beatitudes " ;  which,  if  finished,  would 
have  been  of  great  use  to  the  world,  and  solve  most 
of  the  cases  of  conscience  that  occur  to  a  Christian 
in  all  the  varieties  of  states  and  conditions.  But 
the  all-wise  God  hath  ordained  it  otherwise,  and 
hath  called  home  his  good  servant,  to  give  him  a 
portion  in  that  blessedness  that  Jesus  Christ  hath 
promised  to  all  his  faithful  disciples  and  followers. 

Thus  having  given  you  a  brief  account  of  his  life, 
I  know  you  will  now  expect  a  character  of  his  per- 
son ;  but,  I  foresee,  it  will  befall  him  as  it  does  all 
glorious  subjects  that  are  but  disparaged  by  a  com- 


12  LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

mendation.  One  thing  I  am  secure  of,  that  I  shall 
not  be  thought  to  speak  hyperboles ;  for  the  subject 
can  hardly  be  reached  by  any  expressions ;  for  he 
was  none  of  God's  ordinary  works,  but  his  endow- 
ments were  so  many,  and  so  great,  as  really  made 
him  a  miracle. 

Nature  had  befriended  him  much  in  his  constitu- 
tion ;  for  he  was  a  person  of  most  sweet  and  oblig- 
ing humor,  of  great  candor  and  ingenuity ;  and  there 
was  so  much  of  salt  and  fineness  of  wit,  and  pretti- 
ness  of  address,  in  his  familiar  discourses,  as  made 
his  conversation  have  all  the  pleasantness  of  a  com- 
edy, and  all  the  usefulness  of  a  sermon.  His  soul 
was  made  up  of  harmony ;  and  he  never  spake  but 
he  charmed  his  heai'er,  not  only  with  the  clearness 
of  his  reason,  but  all  his  words,  and  his  very  tone 
and  cadences,  were  strangely  musical. 

But  that  which  did  most  of  all  captivate  and  en- 
ravish,  was,  the  gayety  and  richness  of  fancy ;  for 
he  had  much  in  him  of  that  natural  enthusiasm  that 
inspires  all  gi'eat  poets  and  orators ;  and  there  was  a 
generous  ferment  in  his  blood  and  spirits  that  set  his 
fancy  bravely  a-work,  and  made  it  swell  and  teem 
and  become  pregnant  to  such  degrees  of  luxuriancy 
as  nothing  but  the  greatness  of  his  wit  and  judg- 
ment could  have  kept  it  within  due  bovmds  and 
measures. 

And,  indeed,  it  was  a  rare  mixture,  and  a  single 
instance,  hardly  to  be  found  in  an  age :  for  the  great 
trier  of  wits  has  told  us,  that  there  is  a  peculiar  and 
several  complexion  required  for  wit,  and  judgment, 
and  fancy ;  and  yet  you  might  have  found  all  these 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  13 

in  this  great  personage  in  their  eminency  and  per- 
fection. But  that  which  made  his  wit  and  judgment 
so  considerable,  was  the  largeness  and  freedom  of 
his  spirit ;  for  truth  is  plain  and  easy  to  a  mind  dis- 
entangled from  superstition  and  prejudice.  He  was 
one  of  the  Eclectics,  a  sort  of  brave  philosophers 
that  Laertius  speaks  of,  that  did  not  addict  them- 
selves to  any  particular  sect,  but  ingenuously  sought 
for  truth  among  all  the  wrangling  schools  ;  and  they 
found  her  miserably  torn  and  rent  to  pieces,  and 
parcelled  into  rags,  by  the  several  contending  parties, 
and  so  disfigured  and  misshapen  that  it  was  hard  to 
know  her ;  but  they  made  a  shift  to  gather  up  her 
scattered  limbs,  Avhich,  as  soon  as  they  came  to- 
gether, by  a  strange  sympathy  and  connaturalness, 
presently  united  into  a  lovely  and  beautiful  body. 
This  was  the  spirit  of  this  great  man ;  he  weighed 
men's  reasons  and  not  their  names,  and  was  not 
scared  with  the  ugly  visors  men  usually  put  upon 
persons  they  hate  and  opinions  they  dislike,  —  not 
affrighted  with  the  anathemas  and  execrations  of  an 
infallible  chair,  which  he  looked  upon  only  as  bug- 
bears to  terrify  weak  and  childish  minds.  He  con- 
sidered that  it  is  not  likely  any  one  party  should 
wholly  engross  truth  to  themselves  ;  that  obedience 
is  the  only  way  to  true  knowledge  ;  which  is  an  ar- 
gument that  he  has  managed  rarely  well  in  that 
excellent  sermon  of  his,  which  he  calls  "  Via  Intel- 
ligentiaj " ;  that  God  always,  and  only,  teaches  do- 
cible  and  ingenuous  minds,  that  are  willing  to  hear 
and  ready  to  obey  according  to  their  light ;  that  it 
is   impossible   a   pure,  humble,  resigned,   God-like 


14  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS 

soul  should  be  kept  out  of  heaven,  whatever  mis- 
takes it  might  be  subject  to  in  this  state  of  mortality ; 
that  the  design  of  heaven  is  not  to  fill  men's  heads 
and  feed  their  curiosities,  but  to  better  their  hearts 
and  mend  their  lives.  Such  considerations  as  these 
made  him  impartial  in  his  disquisitions,  and  give  a 
due  allowance  to  the  reasons  of  his  adversary,  and 
contend  for  truth,  and  not  for  victory. 

And  now  you  will  easily  believe  that  an  ordinary 
diligence  would  be  able  to  make  great  improvements 
upon  such  a  stock  of  parts  and  endowments ;  but  to 
these  advantages  of  nature  and  excellency  of  his 
spirit  he  added  an  indefatigable  industry,  and  God 
gave  a  plentiful  benediction :  for  there  were  very 
few  kinds  of  learning  but  he  was  a  "  Mystes,"  and  a 
great  master  in  them ;  he  was  a  rare  humanist,  and 
hugely  versed  in  all  the  polite  arts  of  learning;  and 
had  thoroughly  concocted  all  the  ancient  moralists, 
Greek  and  Roman,  poets  and  orators  ;  and  was  not 
unacquainted  with  the  refined  wits  of  later  ages, 
whether  French  or  Italian. 

But  he  had  not  only  the  accomplishments  of  a 
gentleman,  but  so  universal  were  his  parts,  that  they 
were  proportioned  to  everything;  and  though  his 
spirit  and  humor  were  made  up  of  smoothness  and 
gentleness,  yet  he  could  bear  with  the  harshness  and 
roughness  of  the  schools;  and  was  not  unseen  in 
their  subtilties  and  spinosities,  and,  upon  occasion, 
could  make  them  serve  his  purpose ;  and  yet,  I  be- 
lieve, he  thought  many  of  them  very  near  akin  to 
the  famous  Knight  de  la  Mancha,  and  would  make 
sport  sometimes  with  the  romantic   sophistry  and 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  15 

fantastic  adventures  of  school-errantry.  His  skill 
was  great,  both  in  the  civil  and  canon  law,  and  casu- 
istical divinity ;  and  he  was  a  rare  conductor  of 
souls,  and  knew  how  to  counsel  and  to  advise,  —  to 
solve  difficulties,  and  determine  cases,  and  quiet 
consciences.  And  he  was  no  novice  in  Mr.  I.  S.'s 
new  science  of  controversy  ;  but  could  manage  an 
argument  and  repartees  with  a  strange  dexterity ; 
he  understood  what  the  several  parties  in  Christen- 
dom have  to  say  for  themselves,  and  could  plead 
their  cause  to  better  adv^antage  than  any  advocate 
of  their  tribe :  and  when  he  had  done,  he  could  con- 
fute them  too,  and  show  that  better  arguments 
than  ever  they  could  produce  for  themselves  would 
afford  no  sufficient  ground  for  their  fond  opinions. 

It  would  be  too  great  a  task  to  pursue  his  accom- 
plishments through  the  various  kinds  of  literature. 
I  shall  content  myself  to  add  only  his  great  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Fathers  and  ecclesiastical  writers,  and 
the  doctors  of  the  first  and  purest  ages  both  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  Church  ;  which  he  has  made  use 
of  against  the  Romanists,  to  vindicate  the  Church  of 
England  from  the  challenge  of  innovation,  and  prove 
her  to  be  truly  ancient,  catholic,  and  apostolical. 

But  religion  and  virtue  is  the  crown  of  all  other 
accomplishments  ;  and  it  was  the  glory  of  this  great 
man  to  be  thought  a  Christian,  and  whatever  you 
added  to  it,  he  looked  upon  as  a  term  of  diminution ; 
and  he  was  a  zealous  son  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land ;  but  that  was  because  he  judged  her  (and 
with  great  reason)  a  Church  the  most  purely  Chris- 
tian of  any  in  the  world.     In  his  younger  years  ho 


16  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

met  with  some  assaults  from  popery  ;  and  the  high 
pretensions  of  their  religious  orders  were  very  ac- 
commodate to  his  devotional  temper :  but  he  was 
always  so  much  master  of  himself,  that  he  would 
never  be  governed  by  anything  but  reason,  and  the 
evidence  of  truth,  which  engaged  him  in  the  study 
of  those  controversies  ;  and  to  how  good  purpose, 
the  world  is  by  this  time  a  sufficient  M'itness :  but 
the  longer  and  the  more  he  considered,  the  worse  he 
liked  the  Roman  cause,  and  became  at  last  to  cen- 
sure them  with  some  severity  ;  but  I  confess  I  have 
so  great  an  opinion  of  his  judgment,  and  the  chari- 
tableness of  his  spu'it,  that  I  am  afraid  he  did  not 
think  worse  of  them  than  they  deserve. 

But  religion  is  not  a  matter  of  theory  and  ortho- 
dox notions  ;  and  it  is  not  enough  to  believe  aright, 
but  we  must  practise  accordingly  ;  and  to  master 
our  passions,  and  to  make  a  right  use  of  that  power 
that  God  has  given  us  over  our  own  actions,  is  a 
greater  glory  than  all  other  accomplishments  that 
can  adorn  the  mind  of  man ;  and,  therefore,  I  shall 
close  my  character  of  this  great  personage  with  a 
touch  upon  some  of  those  virtues  for  wliich  his 
memory  will  be  precious  to  all  posterity.  He  was  a 
person  of  great  humility  ;  and  notwithstanding  his 
stupendous  parts,  and  learning,  and  eminency  of 
place,  he  had  nothing  in  him  of  pride  and  humor, 
but  was  courteous  and  affable,  and  of  easy  access, 
and  would  lend  a  ready  ear  to  the  complaints,  yea, 
to  the  impertinencies  of  the  meanest  persons.  His 
humility  was  coupled  with  an  extraordinary  piety  ; 
and,  I  believe,  he  spent  the  greatest  part  of  his  time 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  17 

in  heaven ;  his  solemn  hours  of  prayer  took  up  a 
considerable  portion  of  his  life  ;  and  we  are  not  to 
doubt  but  he  had  learned  of  St.  Paul  to  pray  con- 
tinually ;  and  that  occasional  ejaculations,  and  fre- 
quent aspirations  and  emigrations  of  his  soul  after 
God,  made  up  the  best  part  of  his  devotions.  But 
he  was  not  only  a  good  man  Godward,  but  he  was 
come  to  the  top  of  St.  Peter's  gradation,  and  to  all 
his  other  virtues  added  a  large  and  diffusive  charity : 
and  whoever  compares  his  plentiful  incomes  with 
the  inconsiderable  estate  he  left  at  his  death,  will  be 
easily  convinced  that  charity  was  steward  for  a  great 
proportion  of  his  revenue.  But  the  hungry  that  he 
fed,  and  the  naked  that  he  clothed,  and  the  dis- 
tressed that  he  supplied,  and  the  fatherless  that  he 
provided  for,  —  the  poor  children  that  he  put  to  ap- 
prentice, and  brought  up  at  school,  and  maintained 
at  the  university,  —  will  now  sound  a  trumpet  to  that 
charity  which  he  dispersed  with  his  right  hand,  but 
would  not  suffer  his  left  hand  to  have  any  knowl- 
edge of  it. 

To  sum  up  all  in  a  few  words  :  this  great  prelate 
had  the  good-humor  of  a  gentleman,  the  eloquence 
of  an  orator,  the  fancy  of  a  poet,  the  acuteness  of  a 
schoolman,  the  profoundness  of  a  philosopher,  the 
wisdom  of  a  chancellor,  the  sagacity  of  a  prophet, 
the  reason  of  an  angel,  and  the  piety  of  a  saint ;  he 
had  devotion  enough  for  a  cloister,  learning  enough 
for  a  university,  and  wit  enough  for  a  college  of 
virtuosi  ;  and  had  his  parts  and  endowments  been 
parcelled  out  among  his  poor  clergy  that  he  left  be- 
hind him,  it  would,  perhaps,  have  made  one  of  the 
2 


18  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

best  dioceses  in  the  world.  But,  alas  !  "  Our  father ! 
our  father !  the  horses  of  our  Israel,  and  the  chariot 
thereof!  "  he  is  gone,  and  has  carried  his  mantle  and 
his  spirit  along  with  liim  up  to  heaven  ;  and  the 
sons  of  the  prophets  have  lost  all  their  beauty  and 
lustre,  which  they  enjoyed  only  from  the  reflection 
of  his  excellencies,  which  were  bright  and  radiant 
enough  to  cast  a  glory  upon  a  whole  order  of  men. 
But  the  sun  of  this  our  world,  after  many  attempts 
to  break  through  the  crust  of  an  earthly  body,  is  at 
last  swallowed  up  in  the  great  vortex  of  eternity, 
and  there  all  his  maculce  are  scattered  and  dis- 
solved, and  he  is  fixed  in  an  orb  of  glory,  and  shines 
among  his  brethren  stars,  that,  in  their  several  ages, 
gave  light  to  the  world,  and  turned  many  souls  unto 
righteousness  ;  and  we  that  are  left  behind,  though 
we  can  never  reach  his  perfections,  must  study  to 
imitate  his  virtues,  that  we  may  at  last  come  to  sit 
at  his  feet  in  the  mansions  of  glory. 

After  a  short  illness  of  ten  days,  this  man  of  ex- 
traordinary gifts  and  attainments  finished  his  earthly 
course,  on  the  13th  of  August,  1667,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-five  years. 

The  critical  remarks  that  follow  are  from  the  pen 
of  Bishop  Heber. 

The  comeliness  of  Taylor's  person  has  been  often 
noticed,  and  he  himself  appears  to  have  been  not 
insensible  of  it.  Few  authors  have  so  frequently 
introduced  their  own  portraits,  in  different  characters 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  19 

and  attitudes,  as  ornaments  to  their  printed  works. 
So  far  as  we  may  judge  from  these,  he  appears  to 
have  been  above  the  middle  size,  strongly  and  hand- 
somely proportioned,  with  his  hair  long  and  grace- 
fully curling  on  his  cheeks,  large  dark  eyes,  full  of 
sweetness,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  an  open  and  intel- 
ligent countenance. 

Of  Taylor's  domestic  habits  and  private  character 
much  is  not  known,  but  all  which  is  known  is  ami- 
able. "  Love,"  as  well  as  "  admiration,"  is  said  to 
have  "  waited  on  him  "  in  Oxford.  In  Wales,  and 
amid  the  mutual  irritation  and  violence  of  civil  and 
religious  hostility,  we  find  him  conciliating,  when  a 
prisoner,  the  favor  of  his  keepers,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  preserved,  imdiminished,  the  confidence  and 
esteem  of  his  OAvn  party.  Laud,  in  the  height  of 
his  power  and  full-blown  dignity  ;  Charles,  in  his 
deepest  reverses ;  Hatton,  Vaughan,  and  Conway, 
amid  the  tumults  of  civil  war ;  and  Evelyn,  in  the 
tranquillity  of  his  elegant  retirement ;  seem  alike  to 
have  cherished  his  friendship,  and  coveted  his  soci- 
ety. The  same  genius  which  extorted  the  com- 
mendation of  Jeanes,  for  the  variety  of  its  research 
and  the  vigor  of  its  argument,  was  also  an  object  of 
interest  and  affection  with  the  young  and  rich  and 
beautiful  Katharine  Philips  ;  and  few  writers,  who 
have  expressed  their  opinions  so  strongly,  and, 
sometimes,  so  unguardedly  as  he  has  done,  have 
lived  and  died  with  so  much  praise  and  so  little  cen- 
sure. Much  of  this  felicity  may  be  probably  re- 
ferred to  an  engaging  appearance  and  a  pleasing 
manner ;  but  its    cause  must  be  sought,  in  a   still 


20  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

greater  degree,  in  the  evident  kindliness  of  heart, 
which,  if  the  uniform  tenor  of  a  man's  writings  is 
any  index  to  his  character,  must  have  distinguished 
him  from  most  men  living ;  in  a  temper,  to  all  ap- 
pearance warm,  but  easily  conciliated ;  and  in  that 
which,  as  it  is  one  of  the  least  common,  is  of  all 
dispositions  the  most  attractive,  not  merely  a  neglect, 
but  a  total  forgetfulness  of  all  selfish  feeling.  It  is 
this,  indeed,  which  seems  to  have  constituted  the 
most  striking  feature  of  his  character.  Other  men 
have  been,  to  judge  from  their  writings  and  their 
lives,  to  all  appearance,  as  religious,  as  regular  in 
their  devotions,  as  diligent  in  the  performance  of  all 
which  the  laws  of  God  or  man  require  from  us  ; 
but  with  Taylor  his  duty  seems  to  have  been  a  de- 
light, his  piety  a  passion.  His  faith  was  the  more 
vivid  in  proportion  as  his  fancy  was  more  intensely 
vigorous  ;  with  him  the  objects  of  his  hope  and  rev- 
erence were  scarcely  unseen  or  future  ;  his  imagi- 
nation daily  conducted  him  to  "  diet  with  gods,"  and 
elevated  him  to  the  same  height  above  the  world, 
and  the  same  nearness  to  ineffable  things,  which 
Milton  ascribes  to  his  allegorical  "  cherub  Contem- 
plation." 

Of  the  broader  and  more  general  lines  of  Taylor's 
literary  character  a  very  few  observations  may  be 
sufficient.  The  greatness  of  his  attainments,  and 
the  powers  of  his  mind,  are  evident  in  all  his  writ- 
ings, and  to  the  least  attentive  of  his  readers.  It  is 
hard  to  point  out  a  branch  of  learning,  or  of  scien- 
tific pursuit,  to  which  he  does  not  occasionally  al- 
lude ;  or  any  author  of  eminence,  either  ancient  or 


OF  JEREMY  TAYLOR.  21 

modern,  with  whom  he  does  not  evince  himself  ac- 
quainted. And  it  is  certain,  that,  as  very  few  other 
writers  have  equal  riches  to  display,  so  he  is  apt  to 
display  his  stores  with  a  lavish  exuberance  which 
the  severer  taste  of  Hooker  or  of  Barrow  would 
have  condemned  as  ostentatious,  or  rejected  as  cum- 
bersome. Yet  he  is  far  from  a  mere  reporter  of 
other  men's  arguments,  —  a  textuary  of  fathers  and 
schoolmen,  —  who  resigns  his  reason  into  the  hands 
of  his  predecessors,  and  who  employs  no  other  in- 
strument for  convincing  his  readers  than  a  length- 
ened string  of  authorities.  His  familiarity  with  the 
stores  of  ancient  and  modem  literature  is  employed 
to  illustrate  more  frequently  than  to  establish  his 
positions ;  and  may  be  traced,  not  so  much  in  direct 
citation,  (though  of  this,  too,  there  is,  perhaps,  more 
than  sufficient,)  as  in  the  abundance  of  his  allusions, 
the  character  of  his  imagery,  and  the  occurrence  of 
terms  of  foreign  derivation,  or  employed  in  a  foreign 
and  unusual  meaning. 

It  is  thus  that  he  more  than  once  refers  to  obscure 
stories  in  ancient  writers,  as  if  they  were,  of  neces- 
sity, as  familiar  to  all  his  readers  as  himself ;  that  he 
talks  of  "  poor  Attilius  Aviola,"  or  "  the  Lybian 
lion,"  that  "  brake  loose  into  his  wilderness  and 
killed  two  Roman  boys " ;  as  if  the  accidents  of 
which  he  is  speaking  had  occurred  in  London  a  few 
weeks  before.  It  is  thus  that,  in  warning  an  Eng- 
lish (or  a  Welsh)  auditory  against  the  brief  term  of 
mortal  luxury,  he  enumerates  a  long  list  of  ancient 
dainties,  and  talks  of  "  the  condited  bellies  of  the 
scarus,"  and  "  drinking  of  healths  by  the  numeral 


22  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

letters  of  Philenium's  name."  It  is  thus  that  one  of 
his  strangest  and  harshest  similes,  where  he  com- 
pares an  ill-sorted  marriage  to  "  going  to  bed  with  a 
dragon,"  is  the  suggestion  of  a  mind  familiar  with 
those  lamiee  with  female  faces  and  extremities  like 
a  serpent,  of  wliose  enticements  strange  stories  are 
told,  in  the  old  demonologies.  And  thus  that  he 
speaks  of  the  "justice,"  instead  of  the  "juice"  of 
fishes  ;  of  an  "  excellent "  pain  ;  of  the  gospel  being 
preached,  not  "  to  the  common  people,"  but  to 
"  idiots  "  ;  and  of  "  serpents,"  (meaning  "  creeping 
things,")  devouring  our  bodies  in  the  grave.  It  is 
this  which  gives  to  many  of  his  most  striking  passages 
the  air  of  translations,  and  which,  in  fact,  may  well 
lead  us  to  believe,  that  some  of  them  are  indeed  the 
selected  members  of  different  and  disjointed  classics. 
On  the  other  hand,  few  circumstances  can  be 
named,  which  so  greatly  contribute  to  the  richness 
of  his  matter,  the  vivacity  of  his  style,  and  the  har- 
mony of  his  language,  as  those  copious  drafts  on  all 
which  is  wise,  or  beautiful,  or  extraordinary,  in  an- 
cient writers  or  in  foreign  tongues  ;  and  the  very 
singularity  and  hazard  of  his  plirases  has  not  unfre- 
quently  a  peculiar  charm,  which  the  observers  of  a 
tamer  and  more  ordinary  diction  can  never  hope  to 
inspire.  One  of  these  archaisms,  and  a  very  grace- 
ful one,  is  the  introduction  of  the  comparative  de- 
gree, simply  and  witliout  its  contrasted  quantity,  of 
which  he  has  made  a  very  frequent  use,  but  which 
he  has  never  employed  without  producing  aa  effect 
of  striking  beauty.  Thus,  he  tells  us  "  of  a  more 
healthy  sorrow  " ;  of  "  the  air's  looser  garment,"  or 


OF  JEREMY   TAYLOR.  23 

"  the  wilder  fringes  of  the  fire  " ;  which,  though  in 
a  style  purely  English  they  would  be  probably  re- 
placed by  positive  or  superlative  epithets,  could 
hardly  suffer  this  change  without  a  considerable 
detraction  from  the  spirit  and  raciness  of  the  sen- 
tence. The  same  observation  may  apply  to  the  use 
of  "  prevaricate,"  in  an  active  sense ;  to  "  the  tem- 
eration  of  ruder  handling  "  ;  and  to  many  sin)ilai' 
expressions,  which,  if  unusual,  are  at  least  expres- 
sive and  sonorous,  and  which  could  hardly  be  re- 
placed by  the  corresponding  vernacular  phrases 
without  a  loss  of  brevity  or  beauty.  Of  such  ex- 
pressions as  these  it  is  only  necessary  to  observe 
that  their  use,  to  be  effectual  or  allowable,  should  be 
more  discreet,  perhaps,  and  infrequent,  than  is  the 
case  in  the  works  of  Taylor. 

I  have  already  noticed  the  familiarity  which  he 
himself  displays, — and  which  he  apparently  expected 
to  find,  in  an  almost  equal  degree,  in  his  readers  or 
hearers,  —  with  the  facts  of  history,  the  opinions  of 
philosophy,  the  productions  of  distant  climates,  and 
the  customs  of  distant  nations.  Nor,  in  the  allusions 
or  examples  which  he  extracts  from  such  sources,  is 
he  always  attentive  to  the  weight  of  authority,  or 
the  probability  of  the  fact  alleged.  The  age,  in- 
deed, in  which  he  lived  was,  in  many  respects,  a 
credulous  one.  The  discoveries  Avhich  had  been 
made  by  the  enterprise  of  travellers,  and  the  un- 
skilful and  as  yet  immature  efforts  of  the  new  phi- 
losophy, had  extended  the  knowledge  of  mankind 
just  far  enough  to  make  them  know  that  much  yet 
remained  uncertain,  and  that  many  things  were  true 


24  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS 

which  their  fathers  had  held  for  impossible.  Such 
absence  of  skepticism  is,  of  all  states  of  the  human 
mind,  most  favorable  to  the  increase  of  knowledge  ; 
but  for  the  preservation  of  truths  already  acquired, 
and  the  needful  separation  of  truth  from  falsehood, 
it  is  necessary  to  receive  the  testimony  of  men,  how- 
ever positive,  with  more  of  doubt  than  Boyle,  Wil- 
kins,  or  even  Bacon,  appear  to  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  exercise. 

But  Taylor  was  anything  rather  than  a  critical 
inquirer  into  facts  (however  strange)  of  history  or 
philosophy.  If  such  alleged  facts  suited  his  pur- 
pose, he  received  them  without  examination,  and 
retailed  them  without  scruple  ;  and  we  therefore 
read  in  his  works  of  such  doubtful  or  incredible 
examples  as  that  of  a  single  city  containing  fifteen 
millions  of  inhabitants ;  of  the  Neapolitan  manna, 
which  failed  as  soon  as  it  was  subjected  to  a  tax ; 
and  of  the  monument  "  nine  furlongs  high,"  which 
was  erected  by  Ninus,  the  Assyrian.  Nor  in  his 
illustrations,  even  where  they  refer  to  matters  of 
daily  observation  or  of  undoubted  truth,  is  he  al- 
ways attentive  to  accuracy. 

"  When  men  sell  a  mule,"  he  tells  us,  "  they  speak 
of  the  horse  that  begat  him,  not  of  the  ass  that  bore 
him."  It  is  singular  that  he  should  forget  that,  of 
mules,  the  ass  is  always  the  fatlier.  What  follows 
is  still  more  extraordinary,  inasmuch  as  it  shows  a 
forgetfulness  of  the  circumstances  of  two  of  the 
most  illustrious  events  in  the  Old  Testament.  "  We 
sliould  fight,"  says  he,  "  as  Gideon  did,  with  three 
hundred    hardy   brave   fellows    that   would    stand 


OF  JEREMY  TAYLOR.  25 

against  all  violence,  rather  than  to  make  a  noise 
with  rams'  horns  and  broken  pitchers,  like  the  men 
at  the  siege  of  Jericho."  Had  he  thought  twice,  he 
must  have  recollected  that  "  making  a  noise  "  was 
at  least  one  principal  part  of  the  service  required 
from  Gideon's  troops,  and  that  the  "  broken  pitch- 
ers "  were  their  property  alone,  and  a  circumstance 
of  which  the  narrative  of  the  siege  of  Jericho  affords 
not  the  least  mention.  An  occasional  occuiTence  of 
such  errors  is  indeed  unavoidable ;  and,  irrelevant 
as  some  of  his  iUusti-ations  are,  and  uncertain  as 
may  be  the  truth  of  others,  there  is  none,  perhaps, 
of  his  readers  who  would  wish  those  illustrations 
fewer,  to  which  his  woi'ks  owe  so  much  of  theu' 
force,  theu'  impressiveness,  and  their  entertainment. 
As  a  reasoner,  I  do  not  think  him  matchless.  He  is, 
indeed,  always  acute,  and,  in  practical  questions, 
almost  always  sensible.  His  knowledge  was  so  vast, 
that  on  every  pomt  of  discussion  he  set  out  with 
great  advantage,  as  being  familiar  with  all  the  neces- 
sary preliminaries  of  the  question,  and  with  every 
ground  or  argument  which  had  been  elicited  on 
either  side  by  former  controversies.  But  his  own 
understanding  was  rather  inventive  than  critical. 
He  never  failed  to  find  a  plausible  argument  for  any 
opinion  which  he  himself  entertained ;  he  was  as 
ready  with  plausible  objections  to  every  argument 
which  might  be  advanced  by  his  adversaries  ;  and 
he  was  completely  acquainted  with  the  whole  detail 
of  controversial  attack  and  defence,  and  of  every 
weapon  of  eloquence,  irony,  or  sarcasm,  which  was 
most  proper  to  persuade  or  to  silence.     But  his  own 


26  LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 

views  were  sometimes  indistinct,  and  often  hasty. 
His  opinions,  therefore,  though  always  honest  and 
ardent,  he  had  sometimes  occasion,  in  the  course  of 
his  life,  to  change  ;  and  instances  have  been  already 
pointed  out,  not  only  where  his  reasoning  is  incon- 
clusive, but  Avhere  positions  ardently  maintained  in 
some  of  his  Avritings  are  doubted  or  denied  in  others. 
But  it  should  be  remembered  how  much  he  wrote 
during  a  life  in  itself  not  long,  and  in  its  circum- 
stances by  no  means  favorable  to  accurate  research 
or  calm  reasoning.  Nor  can  it  be  a  subject  of  sur- 
prise that  a  poor  and  oppressed  man  should  be 
sometimes  hurried  too  far  in  opposition  to  his  per- 
secutors, or  that  one  who  had  so  little  leisure  for  the 
correction  of  his  works  should  occasionally  be  found 
to  contradict  or  repeat  himself. 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  point  out  the  ver- 
satility of  his  talents,  which,  though  uniformly  ex- 
erted on  subjects  appropriate  to  his  profession,  are 
distinguished,  where  such  weapons  are  needed,  by 
irony  and  caustic  humor,  as  well  as  by  those  milder 
and  sublimer  beauties  of  style  and  sentiment  which 
are  his  more  famiHar  and  distinguishing  character- 
istics. Yet  to  such  weapons  he  has  never  recourse 
wantonly  or  rashly.  Nor  do  I  recollect  any  instance 
in  which  he  has  employed  them  in  the  cause  of  pri- 
vate or  personal,  or  even  polemical  hostility,  or  any 
occasion  where  their  fullest  severity  was  not  justi- 
fied and  called  for  by  crimes,  by  cruelty,  by  inter- 
ested superstition,  or  base  and  sordid  hypocrisy. 
His  satire  was  always  kept  in  check  by  the  depth 
and  fervor  of  his  religious  feelings,  his  charity,  and 


OF  JEREMY  TAYLOR.  27 

his  humility.  It  is  on  devotional  and  moral  subjects, 
however,  that  the  peculiar  character  of  his  mind  is 
most,  and  most  successfully,  developed.  To  this 
service  he  devotes  his  most  glowing  language ;  to 
this  his  aptest  illustrations  ;  his  thoughts,  and  his 
words  at  once  burst  into  a  flame,  when  touched  by 
the  coals  of  this  altar ;  and  whether  he  describes  the 
duties,  or  dangers,  or  hopes  of  man,  or  the  mercy, 
power,  and  justice  of  the  Most  High,  —  whether  he 
exhorts  or  instructs  his  brethren,  or  oifers  up  his 
supplications  in  their  behalf  to  the  common  Father 
of  all,  —  his  conceptions  and  his  expressions  belong 
to  the  loftiest  and  most  sacred  description  of  poetry, 
of  which  they  only  want,  what  they  cannot  be  said 
to  need,  the  name  and  the  metrical  arrangement. 

It  is  this  distinctive  excellence,  still  more  than  the 
other  qualifications  of  learning  and  logical  acute- 
ness,  which  has  placed  him,  even  in  that  age  of 
gigantic  talent,  on  an  eminence  superior  to  any  of 
his  immediate  contemporaries  ;  which  has  exempted 
him  from  the  comparative  neglect  into  which  the 
dry  and  repulsive  learning  of  Andrews  and  Sander- 
son has  fallen  ;  which  has  left  behind  the  acute- 
ness  of  Hales,  and  the  imaginative  and  copious  elo- 
quence of  Bishop  Hall,  at  a  distance  hardly  less  than 
the  cold  elegance  of  Clarke,  and  the  dull  good  sense 
of  Tillotson ;  and  has  seated  him,  by  the  almost 
unanimous  estimate  of  posterity,  on  the  same  lofty 
elevation  with  Hooker  and  with  Barrow. 

Of  such  a  triumvirate,  who  shall  settle  the  prece- 
dence ?  Yet  it  may,  perhaps,  be  not  far  from  the 
truth,  to  observe,  that  Hooker  claims  the  foremost 


28     LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 

rank  in  sustained  and  classic  dignity  of  style,  in 
political  and  pragmatical  wisdom  ;  that  to  Barrow 
the  praise  must  be  assigned  of  the  closest  and  the 
clearest  views,  and  of  a  taste  the  most  controlled 
and  chastened  ;  but  that  in  imagination,  in  interest, 
in  that  which  more  properly  and  exclusively  deserves 
the  name  of  genius,  Taylor  is  to  be  placed  before 
either.  The  first  awes  most,  the  second  convinces 
most,  the  third  persuades  and  delights  most  ;  and 
(according  to  the  decision  of  one  *  whose  own  rank 
among  the  ornaments  of  English  literature  yet  re- 
mains to  be  determined  by  posterity)  Hooker  is  the 
object  of  our  reverence,  Barrow  of  our  admiration, 
and  Jeremy  Taylor  of  our  love. 

*  Dr.  Parr. 


SELECTIONS 


FROM 


JEREMY  TAYLOR. 


SELECTIONS. 


THE   DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 


"YT'IRTUE  and  vice  are  so  essentially  distin- 
^  guished,  and  the  distinction  is  so  necessary 
to  be  observed  in  order  to  the  well-being  of 
men  in  private  and  in  societies,  that,  to  divide 
them  in  themselves,  and  to  separate  them  by 
sufficient  notices,  and  to  distinmiish  them  bv 
rewards,  hath  been  designed  by  all  laws, 
by  the  sayings  of  wise  men,  by  the  order  of 
things,  by  their  proportions  to  good  or  evil. 
And  the  expectations  of  men  have  been  framed 
accordingly  ;  that  \artue  may  have  a  proper 
seat  in  the  will  and  in  the  affections,  and  may 
become  amiable  by  its  own  excellency  and  its 
appendant  blessing ;  and  that  vice  may  be  as 
natural  an  enemy  to  a  man,  as  a  wolf  to  the 
lamb,  and  as  darkness  to  light,  —  destrvictive  of 
its  being,  and  a  contradiction  of  its  nature. 
But  it  is  not  enough  that  all  the  world  hath 
armed  itself  against  vice,  and,  by  all  that  is 
wise  and  sober  among  men,  hath   taken  the 


32  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

part  of  virtue,  adorning  it  with  glorious  appel- 
latives, encouraging  it  by  rewards,  entertaining 
it  by  sweetness,  and  commanding  it  by  edicts, 
fortifying  it  with  defensatives,  and  twining  with 
it  in  all  artificial  compliances.    All  this  is  short 
of  man's  necessity ;  for  this  will,  in  all  modest 
men,  secure  their  actions  in  theatres  and  high- 
ways, in  markets  and  churches,  before  the  eye 
of  judges,  and  in  the  society  of  witnesses  :  but 
the  actions  of  closets  and  chambers,  the  desio-ns 
and  thoughts  of  men,  their  discourses  in  dark 
places,  and  the  actions  of  retirements  and  of 
the  night,  are  left  indifferent  to  Aartue  or  to 
vice  :  and  of  these,  as  man  can  take  no  cocf- 
nizance,  so  he  can  make   no  coercitive  ;   and 
therefore  above  one  half  of  human  actions  is 
by  the  laws  of  man  left  unregarded  and  un- 
provided for.    And  besides  this,  there  are  some 
men  who  are  bigger  than  laws,  and  some  are 
bigger  than  judges ;    and   some  judges   have 
lessened  themselves  by  fear  and  cowardice,  by 
bribery  and  flattery,  by  iniquity  and  compli- 
ance; and  where  they  have  not,  yet  they  have 
notices   but  of  few  causes.      And   there    are 
some   sins  so   popular  and   universal,   that  to 
punish  them  is  either  impossible  or  intolerable ; 
and  to  question  such,  would  betray  the  weak- 
ness of  the  public  rods  and  axes,  and  represent 
the  sinner  to  be  stronger  than  the  power  that 
is  appointed  to  be  his  bridle.     And  after  all 


THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT.  83 

this,  we  find  sinners  so  prosperous  that  they 
escape,  so  potent  that  they  fear  not ;  and  sin  is 
made  safe  when  it  grows  great, 

Facere  omnia  ssev^ 


Non  impun6  licet,  nisi  dum  facis 

and  innocence  is  oppressed,  and  the  poor  cries, 
and  he  hath  no  helper,  and  he  is  oppressed, 
and  he  wants  a  patron.  And  for  these  and 
many  other  concurrent  causes,  if  you  reckon 
all  the  causes  that  come  before  all  the  judica- 
tories of  the  world,  though  the  litigious  are  too 
many,  and  the  matters  of  instance  are  intricate 
and  numerous,  yet  the  personal  and  criminal 
are  so  few,  that  of  two  thousand  sins  that  cry 
aloiid  to  God  for  vengeance,  scarce  two  are 
noted  by  the  public  eye,  and  chastised  by  the 
hand  of  justice.  It  must  follow  from  hence, 
that  it  is  but  reasonable,  for  the  interest  of 
virtue  and  the  necessities  of  the  world,  that  the 
private  should  be  judged,  and  virtue  should  be 
tied  upon  the  spirit,  and  the  poor  should  be 
relieved,  and  tlie  oppressed  should  appeal,  and 
the  noise  of  widows  should  be  heard,  and  the 
saints  should  stand  upright,  and  the  cause  that 
was  ill-judged  should  be  judged  over  again,  and 
t^Tants  should  be  called  to  account,  and  our 
thoughts  should  be  examined,  and  our  secret 
actions  ^^iewed  on  all  sides,  and  the  infinite 
number  of  sins  which  escape  here  should  not 
escape  finally.  And  therefore  God  hath  so 
3 


34  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

ordained  it,  that  there  shall  be  a  day  of  doom, 
wherein  all  that  are  let  alone  by  men  shall  be 
questioned  by  God,  and  every  word  and  every 
action  shall  receive  its  just  recompense  of  re- 
ward. "  For  we  must  all  appear  before  the 
judgment-seat  of  Christ,  that  every  one  may 
receive  the  things  done  in  his  body,  according 
to  that  he  hath  done,  whether  it  be  good  or 
bad." 

"  The  things  done  in  the  body,"  so  we  com- 
monly read  it ;  the  things  proper  or  due  to 
the  body,  so  the  expression  is  more  apt  and 
proper ;  for  not  only  what  is  done  by  the  body, 
but  even  the  acts  of  abstracted  understanding 
and  volition,  the  acts  of  reflection  and  choice, 
acts  of  self-love  and  admiration,  and  whatever 
else  can  be  supposed  the  proper  and  peculiar 
act  of  the  soul  or  of  the  spirit,  is  to  be  ac- 
counted for  at  the  day  of  judgment :  and  even 
these  may  be  called  "  the  things  done  in  the 
body,"  because  these  are  the  acts  of  the  man 
in  the  state  of  conjunction  with  the  body. 
The  words  have  in  them  no  other  diflFiculty  or 
variety,  but  contain  a  great  truth  of  the  big- 
gest interest,  and  one  of  the  most  material 
constitutive  articles  of  the  whole  religion,  and 
the  greatest  endearment  of  our  duty  in  the 
whole  world.  Things  are  so  ordered  by  the 
great  Lord  of  all  the  creatures',  that  what- 
soever we  do  or  suffer  shall  be  called  to.ac- 


THE  DAY    OF  JUDGMENT.  35 

count,  and  this  account  shall  be  exact,  and  the 
sentence  shall  be  just,  and  the  rewai'd  shall 
be  great ;  all  the  e^als  of  the  world  shall  be 
amended,  and  the  injustices  shall  be  repaid, 
and  the  divine  Providence  shall  be  vindicated, 
and  virtue  and  vice  shall  forever  be  remarked 
by  their  separate  dwellings  and  reAvards. 

We  will  consider  the  persons  that  are  to  be 
judged,  with  the  circumstances  of  our  advan- 
tages or  our  sorrows.  "  We  must  all  appear," 
even  you,  and  I,  and  all  the  world  ;  kings  and 
priests,  nobles  and  learned,  the  crafty  and  the 
easy,  the  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  prevailing  tyrant  and  the  oppressed 
party,  shall  all  appear  to  receive  their  symbol. 
And  this  is  so  far  from  abating  anything  of  its 
terror  and  our  dear  concernment,  that  it  much 
increases  it :  for,  although  concerning  precepts 
and  discourses  we  are  apt  to  neglect  in  par- 
ticular what  is  recommended  in  general,  and 
in  incidencies  of  mortality  and  sad  events,  the 
singularity  of  the  chance  heightens  the  appre- 
hension of  the  evil :  yet  it  is  so  by  accident, 
and  only  in  regard  of  our  imperfection  ;  it  be- 
ing an  effect  of  self-love,  or  some  little  creep- 
ing envy  which  adheres  too  often  to  the  un- 
fortunate and  miserable ;  or  else  because  the 
sorrow  is  apt  to  increase,  by  being  apprehended 
to  be  a  rare  case,  and  a  singular  unworthiness 
in  him  who  is  afflicted,  otherwise  than  is  com- 


36  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

mon  to  the  sons  of  men,  companions  of  his  sin, 
and  brethren  of  his  nature,  and  partners  of  his 
usual  accidents.  Yet  in  final  and  extreme 
events,  the  multitude  of  sufferers  does  not  les- 
sen, but  increase  the  sufferings  ;  and  when  the 
first  day  of  judgment  happened,  that,  I  mean, 
of  the  universal  deluge  of  waters  upoii  the  old 
world,  the  calamity  swelled  like  the  flood,  and 
every  man  saw  his  friend  perish,  and  the  neigh- 
bors of  his  dwelling,  and  the  relatives  of  his 
house,  and  the  sharers  of  his  joys,  and  yester- 
day's bride,  and  the  new-born  heir,  the  priest 
of  the  family,  and  the  honor  of  the  kindred, 
all  dying  or  dead,  drenched  in  water  and  the 
divine  vengeance  ;  and  then  they  had  no  place 
to  flee  unto,  no  man  cared  for  their  souls ;  they 
had  none  to  go  unto  for  counsel,  no  sanctuary 
high  enough  to  keep  them  from  the  vengeance 
that  rained  down  from  heaven.  And  so  it 
shall  be  at  the  day  of  judgment,  when  that 
world  and  this,  and  all  that  shall  be  born  here- 
after, shall  pass  through  the  same  Red  Sea, 
and  be  all  baptized  with  the  same  fire,  and  be 
involved  in  the  same  cloud,  in  which  shall 
be  thunderings  and  terrors  infinite.  Every 
man's  fear  shall  be  increased  by  his  neigh- 
bor's shrieks ;  and  the  amazement  that  all  the 
world  shall  be  in,  shall  unite  as  the  sparks  of  a 
raging  furnace  into  a  globe  of  fire,  and  roll 
upon  its  own  principle,  and  increase  by  direct 


THE  DAY    OF  JUDGMENT.  37 

appearances,  and  intolerable  reflections.  He 
that  stands  in  a  churchyard  in  the  time  of  a 
great  plague,  and  hears  the  passing-bell  perpet- 
ually tellino;  the  sad  stories  of  death,  and  sees 
crowds  of  infected  bodies  pressing  to  their 
graves,  and  others  sick  and  tremulous,  and 
death  dressed  up  in  all  the  images  of  sorrow 
round  about  him,  is  not  supported  in  his  spirit 
by  the  variety  of  his  sorrow.  And  at  dooms- 
day, when  the  terrors  are  universal,  besides 
that  it  is  in  itself  so  much  greater,  because  it 
can  aftright  the  whole  world,  it  is  also  made 
greater  by  communication  and  a  sorrowful  in- 
fluence ;  grief  being  then  strongly  infectious 
when  there  is  no  variety  of  state,  but  an  entire 
kingdom  of  fear ;  and  amazement  is  the  king 
of  all  our  passions,  and  all  the  world  its  sub- 
jects. And  that  shriek  must  needs  be  terrible, 
when  millions  of  men  and  women  at  the  same 
instant  shall  fearfully  cry  out,  and  the  noise 
shall  mingle  with  the  trumpet  of  the  archangel, 
Avith  the  thunders  of  the  dying  and  groaning 
heavens,  and  the  crack  of  the  dissolving  world ; 
when  the  whole  fabric  of  nature  shall  shake 
into  dissolution  and  eternal  ashes.  But  this 
general  consideration  may  be  heightened  with 
four  or  five  circumstances. 

1.  Consider  what  an  infinite  multitude  of 
angels  and  men  and  women  shall  then  appear. 
It  is  a  huge  assembly,  when  the  men  of  one 


38  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

kingdom,  the  men  of  one  age  in  a  single  prov- 
ince, are  gathered  together  into  heaps  and 
confusion  of  disorder.  But  then  all  kingdoms 
of  all  ages,  all  the  armies  that  ever  mustered, 
all  the  world  that  Augustus  Caesar  taxed,  all 
those  hundreds  of  millions  that  were  slain  in 
all  the  Roman  wars  from  Numa's  time  till  Italy 
was  broken  into  principalities  and  small  exar- 
chates ;  all  these,  and  all  that  can  come  into 
numbers,  and  that  did  descend  from  the  loins 
of  Adam,  shall  at  once  be  represented.  To 
which  account  if  we  add  the  armies  of  heaven, 
the  nine  orders  of  blessed  spirits,  and  the  in- 
finite numbers  in  every  order,  we  may  sup- 
pose the  numbers  fit  to  express  the  majesty  of 
that  God,  and  terror  of  that  Judge,  who  is  the 
Lord  and  Father  of  all  that  unimaginable  mul- 
titude. Erit  terror  ingens  tot  simul  tantorumque 
populoriim* 

2.  In  this  great  multitude  we  shall  meet  all 
those  who  by  their  example  and  their  holy 
precepts  have,  like  tapers,  enkindled  with  a 
beam  of  the  sun  of  righteousness,  enlightened 
us,  and  taught  us  to  walk  in  the  paths  of  jus- 
tice. There  we  shall  see  all  those  good  men 
whom  God  sent  to  preach  to  us,  and  recall  us 
from  human  follies  and  inhuman  practices ;  and 
when  we  espy  the  good  man,  that  chid  us  for 
our  last  drunkenness  or  adulteries,  it  shall  then 

*  Florus. 


THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT.  39 

also  be  remembered,  how  we  mocked  at  coun- 
sel, and  were  civilly  modest  at  the  repi^oof,  but 
laughed  when  the  man  was  gone,  and  accepted 
it  for  a  religious  compliment,  and  took  our 
leaves,  and  went  and  did  the  same  again.  But 
then  things  shall  put  on  another  face,  and  that 
we  smiled  at  here,  and  slighted  fondly,  shall 
then  be  the  greatest  terror  in  the  world ;  men 
shall  feel  that  they  once  laughed  at  their  own 
destruction,  and  rejected  health,  when  it  was 
offered  by  a  man  of  God  upon  no  other  condi- 
tion but  that  they  would  be  wise,  and  not  be 
in  loA^e  with  death.  Then  they  shall  perceive, 
that,  if  they  had  obeyed  an  easy  and  a  sober 
counsel,  they  had  been  partners  of  the  same 
felicity  which  they  see  so  illustrious  upon  the 
heads  of  those  preachers  whose  work  is  with 
the  Lord,  and  who  by  their  life  and  doctrine 
endeavored  to  snatch  the  soul  of  their  friend 
or  relative  from  an  intolerable  misery.  But 
he  that  sees  a  crown  put  upon  their  heads  that 
give  good  counsel,  and  preach  holy  and  severe 
sermons  with  designs  of  charity  and  piety,  will 
also  then  perceive  that  God  did  not  send 
preachers  for  nothing,  on  trifling  errands  and 
without  regard ;  but  that  work,  which  he 
crowns  in  them,  he  purposed  should  be  effec- 
tive to  us,  persuasive  to  the  understanding,  and 
active  upon  our  consciences.  Good  preach- 
ers by  their  doctrine,  and  all  good  men  by 


40  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

their  lives,  are  the  accusers  of  the  disobedient ; 
and  they  shall  rise  up  from  their  seats,  and 
judge  and  condemn  the  follies  of  those  who 
thought  their  piety  to  be  want  of  courage,  and 
their  discourses  pedantical,  r.nd  their  reproofs 
the  priest's  trade,  but  of  no  signification,  be- 
cause they  preferred  moments  before  eternity. 
3.  There  in  that  great  assembly  shall  be 
seen  all  those  converts,  who,  upon  easier  terms, 
and  fewer  miracles,  and  a  less  experience,  and 
a  younger  grace,  and  a  seldomer  preaching, 
and  more  unlikely  circumstances,  have  suffered 
the  work  of  God  to  prosper  upon  their  spirits, 
and  have  been  obedient  to  the  heavenly  call- 
ing. There  shall  stand  the  men  of  NincA'-eh, 
and  they  shall  stand  upright  in  judgment,  for 
they  at  the  preaching  of  one  man  in  a  less 
space  than  forty  days  returned  unto  the  Lord 
their  God ;  but  we  have  heard  him  call  all  our 
lives,  and  like  the  deaf  adder  stopped  our  ears 
against  the  voice  of  God's  servants,  charm  they 
never  so  wisely.  There  shall  appear  the  men 
of  Caperiiaum,  and  the  Queen  of  the  South, 
and  the  men  of  Berea,  and  the  first  fruits  of 
the  Christian  Church,  and  the  holy  martyrs, 
and  shall  proclaim  to  all  the  world,  that  it  was 
not  impossible  to  do  the  work  of  grace  in  the 
midst  of  all  our  weaknesses,  and  accidental 
disadvantages ;  and  that  the  obedience  of  faith, 
and  the  labor  of  love,  and  the  contentions  of 


TEE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT.  41 

chastity,  and  the  severities  of  temperance  and 
self-denial,  are  not  such  insuperable  mountains, 
but  that  an  honest  and  sober  person  may  per- 
form them  in  acceptable  degrees,  if  he  have 
but  a  ready  ear,  and  a  willing  mind,  and  an 
honest  heart.  And  this  scene  of  honest  per- 
sons shall  make  the  divine  judgment  upon 
sinners  more  reasonably  and  apparently  just, 
in  passing  upon  them  the  horrible  sentence  ; 
for  why  cannot  we  as  well  serve  God  in  peace, 
as  others  served  him  in  war  ?  Why  cannot  we 
love  him  as  well,  when  he  treats  us  sweetly, 
and  gives  us  health  and  plenty,  honors  our  fair 
fortunes,  reputation,  or  contentedness,  quietness 
and  peace,  as  others  did  upon  gibbets  and  un- 
der axes,  in  the  hands  of  tormentors  and  in  hard 
wildernesses,  in  nakedness  and  poverty,  in  the 
midst  of  all  evil  things  and  all  sad  discomforts  ? 
Concerning  this  no  answer  can  be  made. 

4.  But  there  is  a  worse  sight  than  this  yet, 
which,  in  that  great  assembly,  shall  distract  our 
sight  and  amaze  owe  spmts.  There  men  shall 
meet  the  partners  of  their  sins,  and  them  that 
drank  the  round,  when  they  crowned  their 
heads  with  folly  and  forgetfulness,  and  their 
cups  with  wine  and  noises.  There  shall  ye 
see  that  poor,  perishmg  soul,  whom  thou  didst 
tempt  to  adultery  and  wantonness,  to  dnmken- 
ness  or  peijury,  to  rebellion  or  an  evil  interest, 
by  power  or  craft,  by  witty  discourses  or  deep 


42  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

dissembling,  by  scandal  or  a  snare,  by  evil 
example  or  pernicious  counsel,  by  malice  or 
unwariness  ;  and  when  all  tins  is  summed  up, 
and  from  the  variety  of  its  particulars  is  drawn 
into  an  uneasy  load  and  a  formidable  sum,  pos- 
sibly we  may  find  sights  enough  to  scare  all 
our  confidences,  and  arguments  enough  to  press 
our  evil  souls  into  the  sorrows  of  a  most  in- 
tolerable death.  For,  however  we  make  now 
but  light  accounts  and  evil  proportions  concern- 
ing it,  yet  it  will  be  a  feai-fiil  circumstance  of 
appearing,  to  see  one,  or  two,  or  ten,  or  twenty 
accursed  souls,  despairing,  miserable,  infinitely 
miserable,  roaring  and  blaspheming,  and  fear- 
fiiUy  cursing  thee  as  the  cause  of  its  eternal 
sorrows.  Thy  lust  betrayed  and  rifled  her 
weak,  unguarded  innocence  ;  thy  example  made 
thy  servant  confident  to  lie,  or  to  be  perjured  ; 
thy  society  brought  a  third  into  intemperance 
and  the  disguises  of  a  beast :  and  when  thou 
seest  that  soul,  with  whom  thou  didst  sin, 
dragged  into  hell,  well  mayest  thou  fear  to 
drink  the  dregs  of  thy  intolerable  potion.  And 
most  certainly,  it  is  the  greatest  of  evils  to 
destroy  a  soul,  for  whom  the  Lord  Jesus  died, 
and  to  undo  that  grace  which  our  Lord  pur- 
chased with  so  much  sweat  and  blood,  pains, 
and  a  mighty  charity.  And  because  very  many 
sins  are  sins  of  society  and  confederation, — 
such  are  fornication,  drunkenness,  bribery,  sim- 


THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT.  43 

onj,  rebellion,  schism,  and  many  others,  —  it 
is  a  hard  and  a  weighty  consideration,  what 
shall  become  of  any  one  of  us,  who  have 
tempted  our  brother  or  sister  to  sin  and  death. 
For  though  God  hath  spared  our  life,  and  they 
are  dead,  and  their  debt-books  are  sealed  up  till 
the  day  of  account ;  yet  the  mischief  of  our 
sin  is  gone  before  us,  and  it  is  like  a  murder, 
but  more  execrable  :  the  soul  is  dead  in  tres- 
passes and  sins,  and  sealed  up  to  an  eternal 
sorrow ;  and  thou  shalt  see,  at  doomsday,  what 
damnable  uncharitableness  thou  hast  done. 
That  soul  that  cries  to  those  rocks  to  cover  her, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  thy  perpetual  temptations, 
might  have  followed  the  Lamb  in  a  white  robe  ; 
and  that  poor  man,  that  is  clothed  with  shame 
and  flames  of  fire,  would  have  shined  in  gloiy, 
but  that  thou  didst  force  him  to  be  partner  of 
the  baseness.  And  who  shall  pay  for  this  loss  ? 
A  soul  is  lost  by  thy  means  ;  thou  hast  defeated 
the  holy  purposes  of  the  Lord's  bitter  passion 
by  thy  impurities  ;  and  what  shall  happen  to 
thee,  by  whom  thy  brother  dies  eternally  ? 

Of  all  the  considerations  that  concern  this 
part  of  the  horrors  of  doomsday,  nothing  can 
be  more  formidable  than  this,  to  svich  whom  it 
does  concern  :  and  truly  it  concerns  so  many, 
and  amongst  so  many  perhaps  some  persons 
are  so  tender,  that  it  might  affright  their  hopes, 
and   discompose  their  industries   and   spiritual 


44  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

labors  of  repentance  ;  but  that  oiu*  most  merci- 
ful Lord  hath,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  fearful 
circumstances  of  his  second  coming,  interwo- 
ven this  one  comfort  relating  to  this,  which  to 
my  sense  seems  the  most  fearful  and  killing  cir- 
cumstance :  "  Two  shall  be  crrindins;  at  one 
mill ;  the  one  shall  be  taken,  and  the  other  left : 
two  shall  be  in  a  bed  ;  the  one  shall  be  taken, 
and  the  other  left "  ;  that  is,  those  who  are  con- 
federate in  the  same  fortunes,  and  interests,  and 
actions,  may  yet  have  a  different  sentence  ;  for 
an  early  and  an  active  repentance  will  wash  off 
this  account,  and  put  it  upon  the  tables  of  the 
cross :  and  though  it  ouo;ht  to  make  us  diligent 
and  careful,  charitable  and  penitent,  hugely 
penitent,  even  so  long  as  we  live  ;  yet  when 
we  shall  appear  together,  there  is  a  mercy 
that  shall  there  separate  us,  who  sometimes 
had  blended  each  other  in  a  common  crime. 
Blessed  be  the  mercies  of  God,  who  hath  so 
carefully  provided  a  fruitful  shower  of  grace, 
to  refresh  the  miseries  and  dangers  of  the 
greatest  part  of  mankind.  Thomas  Aquinas 
was  used  to  beg  of  God,  that  he  might  never 
be  tempted  from  his  low  fortune  to  prelacies 
and  dignities  ecclesiastical ;  and  that  his  mind 
might  never  be  discomposed  or  polluted  with 
the  love  of  any  creature  ;  and  that  he  might, 
by  some  instrument  or  other,  understand  the 
state  of  his  deceased  brother  :  and   the    story 


THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT.  45 

says,  that  he  was  heard  in  all.  In  him  it  was 
a  great  curiosity,  or  the  passion  and  imperti- 
nencies  of  a  useless  charity  to  search  after  him, 
unless  he  had  some  other  personal  concernment 
than  his  relation  of  kindred.  But  truly,  it 
would  concern  very  many  to  be  solicitous  con- 
cerning; the  event  of  those  souls,  with  whom 
we  have  mingled  death  and  sin ;  for  many  of 
those  sentences,  which  have  passed  and  decreed 
concerning  our  departed  relatives,  will  concern 
us  dearly,  and  we  are  bound  in  the  same 
bundles,  and  shall  be  thrown  into  the  same 
fires,  unless  we  repent  for  our  own  sms,  and 
double  our  sorrows  for  their  damnation. 

5.  We  may  consider  that  this  mfinite  mul- 
titude of  men  and  women,  angels  and  devils, 
is  not  ineffective  as  a  number  in  Pythagoras's 
tables,  but  must  needs  have  mfluence  upon 
every  spirit  that  shall  there  appear :  for  the 
transactions  of  that  court  are  not  like  orations 
spoken  by  a  Grecian  orator  in  the  circles  of 
his  people,  heard  by  them  that  crowd  nearest 
him,  or  that  sound  limited  by  the  circles  of  air, 
or  the  enclosure  of  a  wall ;  but  everything  is 
represented  to  every  person.  And  then  let  it 
be  considered,  when  thy  shame  and  secret 
turpitude,  thy  midnight  revels  and  secret  hy- 
pocrisies, thy  lustful  thoughts  and  treacherous 
designs,  thy  falsehood  to  God  and  startings 
from  thy  holy  promises,  thy  follies  and  mipicties, 


46  THE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT. 

shall  bo  laid  open  before  all  tlie  world,  and 
that  then  shall  bo  spoken  by  the  trumpet  of  an 
archangel  vipon  the  house-top,  the  highest  bat- 
tlements of  heaven,  all  those  filthy  words  and 
lewd  circumstances  which  thou  didst  act  se- 
cretly, thou  wilt  find  that  thou  wilt  have  rea- 
son strangely  to  be  ashamed.  All  the  wise 
men  in  the  world  shall  know  how  vile  thou 
hast  been  ;  and  then  consider  with  what  con- 
fusion of  face  wouldst  thou  stand  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  good  man  and  a  severe,  if  peradven- 
ture  he  should  suddenly  draw  thy  curtain,  and 
find  thee  in  the  sins  of  shame  and  lust ;  it  must 
be  infinitely  more,  when  God  and  all  the  angels 
of  heaven  and  earth,  all  his  holy  myriads,  and 
all  his  redeemed  saints,  shall  stare  and  wonder 
at  thy  impurities  and  follies. 

I  have  read  a  story,  that  a  young  gentleman, 
being  passionately  by  his  mother  dissuaded  from 
entering  into  the  severe  courses  of  a  religious 
and  single  life,  broke  from  her  importunity  by 
saying,  "  Volo  servare  animam  meam  " ;  I  am 
resolved  by  all  means  to  save  my  soul.  But 
when  he  had  undertaken  a  rule  with  passion, 
he  performed  it  carelessly  and  remissly,  and 
was  but  lukewarm  in  his  religion,  and  quickly 
proceeded  to  a  melancholy  and  wearied  spirit, 
and  from  thence  to  a  sickness  and  the  neigh- 
borhood of  death  :  but,  falling  into  an  agony 
and   a   fantastic  vision,  dreamed   that  he  saw 


TEE  DAY   OF  JUDGMENT.  47 

himself  summoned  before  God's  angry  tlirone, 
and  from  thence  hurried  into  a  place  of  tor- 
ments, where  espying  his  mother,  full  of  scorn 
she  upbraided  him  with  his  former  answer,  and 
asked  him,  "  Why  he  did  not  save  his  soul  bv 
all  means,  according  as  he  undertook  ?  "  But 
when  the  sick  man  awakened  and  recovered, 
he  made  his  words  good  indeed,  and  prayed 
frequently,  and  fasted  severely,  and  labored 
humbly,  and  conversed  charitably,  and  morti- 
fied himself  severely,  and  refused  such  secular 
solaces  which  other  good  men  received  to  re- 
fresh and  sustain  their  infirmities  ;  and  gave  no 
other  account  to  them  that  asked  him  but  this : 
"  If  I  could  not,  in  my  ecstasy  or  dream,  en- 
dure my  mother's  upbraiding  my  follies  and 
weak  religion,  how  shall  I  be  able  to  suffer, 
that  God  should  redargue  me  at  doomsday, 
and  the  angels  reproach  my  lukewarmness,  and 
the  devils  aggravate  my  sins,  and  all  the  saints 
of  God  deride  my  foUies  and  hypocrisies  ?  " 

The  effect  of  that  man's  consideration  may 
serve  to  actuate  a  meditation  in  every  one  of 
us  :  for  we  shall  all  be  at  that  pass,  that  unless 
our  shame  and  sorrows  be  cleansed  by  a  timely 
repentance,  and  covered  by  the  robe  of  Christ, 
we  shall  suffer  the  anger  of  God,  the  scorn  of 
saints  and  angels,  and  our  own  shame  in  the 
general  assembly  of  all  manldnd.  This  argu- 
ment  is    most   considerable  to  them  who  are 


48  THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT. 

tender  of  their  precious  name,  and  sensible  of 
honor  ;  if  they  rather  would  choose  death  than 
a  disgrace,  poverty  rather  than  shame,  let  them 
remember  that  a  sinful  life  will  brino;  them  to 
an  intolerable  shame  at  that  day,  when  all  that 
is  excellent  in  heaven  and  earth  shall  be  sum- 
moned as  witnesses  and  parties  m  a  fearful 
scrutiny. 

The  sum  is  this  :  all  that  are  bom  of  Adam 
shall  appear  before  God  and  his  Christ ;  and 
all  the  innumerable  companies  of  angels  and 
devils  shall  be  there  :  and  the  wicked  shall  be 
affrighted  with  everything  they  see  ;  and  there 
they  shall  see  those  good  men,  that  taught  them 
the  ways  of  life,  and  all  those  evU  persons, 
whom  themselves  have  tempted  into  the  ways 
of  death,  and  those  who  were  converted  upon 
easier  terms  ;  and  some  of  these  shall  shame 
the  wicked,  and  some  shall  curse  them,  and 
some  shall  upbraid  them,  and  all  shall  amaze 
them. 

The  majesty  of  the  Judge,  and  the  terrors 
of  the  judgment,  shall  be  spoken  aloud  by  the 
immediate  forerunning  accidents,  which  shall 
be  so  great  violences  to  the  old  constitutions 
of  nature,  that  it  shall  break  her  very  bones, 
and  disorder  her  till  she  be  destroyed.  Saint 
Jerome  relates  out  of  the  Jews'  books,  that 
their  Doctors  use  to  account  fifteen  days  of 
prodigy   immediately   before    Christ's   coming. 


THE  DAT  OF  JUDGMENT.  49 

and  to  every  day  assign  a  wonder,  any  one 
of  wliich,  if  we  sliould  cliance  to  see  in  the 
days  of  our  flesh,  it  would  afli'ight  us  into  the 
like  thoughts  which  the  old  world  had  when 
they  saw  the  comiti'ies  round  about  them  cov- 
ered with  water  and  the  divine  vengeance  ;  or 
as  those  poor  people  near  Adria,  and  the  Medi- 
terranean Sea,  when  their  houses  and  cities 
are  entermg  uito  graves,  and  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  rent  with  convulsions  and  horrid 
tremblings.  The  sea,  they  say,  shall  rise  fif- 
teen cubits  above  the  highest  mountains,  and 
thence  descend  mto  hollowness,  and  a  pro- 
digious drought ;  and  when  they  are  reduced 
again  to  their  usual  proportions,  then  aU  the 
beasts  and  creeping  things,  the  monsters  and 
the  usual  inhabitants  of  the  sea,  shall  be  gath- 
ered together,  and  make  fearful  noises  to  dis- 
tract mankind.  The  bh'ds  shall  mourn  and 
change  their  songs  into  threnes  and  sad  ac- 
cents. Rivers  of  fire  shall  rise  from  east  to 
west,  and  the  stars  shall  be  rent  into  threads 
of  light,  and  scatter  like  the  beards  of  comets. 
Then  shall  be  fearful  earthquakes,  and  the 
rocks  shall  rend  in  pieces,  the  trees  shall  dis- 
til blood,  and  the  mountains  and  fairest  struc- 
tvu-es  shall  return  into  their  primitive  dust. 
The  wild  beasts  shall  leave  their  dens,  and 
come  into  the  companies  of  men,  so  that  you 
shall  hardly  tell  how  to  call  them,  herds  of 


50  THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT. 

men,  or  congregations  of  beasts.  Then  shall 
the  graves  open  and  give  up  their  dead  ;  and 
those  which  are  alive  in  nature  and  dead  in 
fear,  shall  be  forced  fi'om  the  rocks  whither 
they  went  to  hide  them,  and  fi'om  caverns  of 
the  earth,  where  they  would  fain  have  been 
concealed ;  because  their  retirements  are  dis- 
mantled, and  their  rocks  are  broken  into  wider 
ruptures,  and  admit  a  strange  light  into  their 
secret  bowels  ;  and  the  men  being  forced 
abroad  into  the  theatre  of  mighty  horrors, 
shall  nm  up  and  down  distracted  and  at  their 
wits'  end ;  and  then  some  shall  die,  and  some 
shall  be  changed. 

We  may  guess  at  the  severity  of  the  Judge 
by  the  lesser  strokes  of  that  judgment,  which 
he  is  pleased  to  send  upon  sinners  in  this 
world,  to  make  them  afraid  of  the  horrible 
pains  of  doomsday  :  I  mean  the  torments  of 
an  unquiet  conscience,  the  amazement  and 
confusions  of  some  sins  and  some  persons. 
For  I  have  sometimes  seen  persons  surprised 
in  a  base  action,  and  taken  in  the  circum- 
stances of  a  crafty  theft,  and  secret  injustices, 
before  their  excuse  was  ready  ;  they  have 
changed  their  color,  their  speech  hath  fal- 
tered, their  tongue  stammered,  their  eyes  did 
wander  and  fix  nowhere,  till  shame  made 
them  sink  into  their  hollow  eyepits,  to  retreat 
from  the  images  and  circumstances  of  discov- 


THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT.  51 

ery ;  their  "wdts  are  lost,  their  reason  useless, 
the  whole  order  of  the  soul  is  discomposed, 
and  they  neither  see,  nor  feel,  nor  tliink,  as 
they  used  to  do,  but  they  are  broken  into 
disorder  by  a  stroke  of  damnation  and  a  lesser 
stripe  of  hell.  But  then  if  you  come  to  observe 
a  guilty  and  a  base  murderer,  a  condemned 
traitor,  and  see  him  harassed  first  by  an  evil 
conscience,  and  then  pulled  in  pieces  by  the 
hangman's  hooks,  or  broken  upon  sorrows  and 
the  wheel,  we  may  then  guess  (as  well  as  we 
can  in  this  life)  what  the  pains  of  that  day 
shall  be  to  accui'sed  souls.  But  those  we 
shall  consider  afterwards  in  their  proper  scene  ; 
now  only  we  are  to  estimate  the  severity  of 
our  Judge  by  the  mtolerableness  of  an  evil 
conscience.  If  guilt  will  make  a  man  despair, 
and  despair  will  make  a  man  mad,  confounded 
and  dissolved  in  all  the  regions  of  his  senses 
and  more  noble  faculties,  that  he  shall  neither 
feel,  nor  hear,  nor  see  anything  but  spectres 
and  illusions,  devils  and  frightful  dreams,  and 
hear  noises,  and  shriek  fearfully,  and  look  pale 
and  distracted,  like  a  hopeless  man  from  the 
horrors  and  confusions  of  a  lost  battle  upon 
which  all  his  hopes  did  stand,  then  the  wicked 
must  at  the  day  of  judgment  expect  strange 
things  and  fearful,  and  such  now  which  no 
language  can  express,  and  then  no  patience 
can  endure. 


62  THE  DAT   OF  JUDGMENT. 

The  Lord  shall  judge  concernmg  those  judg- 
ments which  men  here  make  of  things  below  ; 
and  the  fighting  men  shall  perceive  the  noise 
of  drmikards  and  fools,  that  cried  him  up  for 
daring  to  kill  his  brother,  to  have  been  evil 
principles ;  and  then  it  will  be  declared  by- 
strange  effects,  that  wealth  is  not  the  greatest 
fortune  ;  and  ambition  was  but  an  ill  counsel- 
lor ;  and  to  lie  for  a  good  cause  was  no  piety ; 
and  to  do  evil  for  the  glory  of  God  was  but  an 
ill  worshipping  him ;  and  that  good-nature  was 
not  well  employed,  when  it  spent  itself  in  vi- 
cious company  and  evil  compliances  ;  and  that 
piety  was  not  softness  and  want  of  courage  ; 
and  that  poverty  ought  not  to  have  been  con- 
temptible ;  and  the  cause  that  is  unsuccessful  is 
not  therefore  evil ;  and  what  is  folly  here  shall 
be  wisdom  there.  Then  shall  men  curse  their 
evil  guides,  and  their  accursed  superinduced 
necessities,  and  the  evil  guises  of  the  world  ; 
and  then  when  silence  shall  be  found  inno- 
cence, and  eloquence  in  many  instances  con- 
demned as  criminal ;  when  the  poor  shall  reign, 
and  generals  and  tyrants  shall  lie  low  in  hor- 
rible regions  ;  when  he  that  lost  all  shall  find 
a  treasure,  and  he  that  spoiled  him  shall  be 
found  naked  and  spoiled  by  the  destroyer ; 
then  we  shall  find  it  true  that  we  ought  here 
to  have  done  what  oxxx:  Judge,  our  blessed 
Lord,  shall  do  there ;  that  is,  take  our  meas- 


THE  DAT  OF  JUDGMENT.  58 

Tires  of  good  and  evil  by  the  severities  of  the 
word  of  God,  by  the  sermons  of  Christ,  and 
the  four  Gospels,  and  by  the  Epistles  of  St. 
Paul,  by  justice  and  charity,  by  the  laws  of 
God  and  the  laws  of  wise  princes  and  repub- 
lics, by  the  rules  of  nature  and  the  just  pro- 
portions of  reason,  by  the  examples  of  good 
men  and  the  proverbs  of  wise  men,  by  sever- 
ity and  the  rules  of  discipline ;  for  then  it 
shall  be,  that  truth  shall  I'ide  in  triumph,  and 
the  holiness  of  Christ's  sermons  shall  be  mani- 
fest to  all  the  world ;  that  the  word  of  God 
shall  be  advanced  over  all  the  discourse  of 
men,  and  "  wisdom  shall  be  justified  by  aU 
her  children." 

The  devil  shall  accuse  "  the  brethren,"  that 
is,  the  saints  and  servants  of  God,  and  shall  tell 
concerning  their  foUies  and  infirmities,  the  sins 
of  their  youth  and  the  weakness  of  their  age, 
the  imperfect  grace  and  the  long  schedule 
of  omissions  of  duty,  their  scruples  and  their 
fears,  their  diffidences  and  pusillanimity,  and 
all  those  things  wdiich  themselves  by  strict  ex- 
amination find  themselves  guilty  of  and  have 
confessed,  aU  their  shame  and  the  matter  of 
their  sorrows,  their  evil  intentions  and  their 
little  plots,  their  carnal  confidences  and  too 
fond  adherences  to  the  things  of  this  world, 
their  indulgence  and  easiness  of  government, 
their  wilder  joys  and  fi'eer  meals,  their  loss  of 


54  THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT. 

time  and  their  too  forward  and  apt  compliances, 
their  trifling  arrests  and  httle  peevishnesses, 
the  mixtures  of  tlie  world  with  the  things  of 
the  spirit,  and  all  the  incidences  of  humanity 
he  will  bring  forth,  and  aggravate  them  by  the 
circumstance  of  ingratitude,  and  the  breach  of 
promise,  and  the  evacuating  of  their  holy  pur- 
poses, and  breaking  their  resolutions,  and  rifling 
their  vows.  And  all  these  things  being  drawn 
into  an  entire  representment,  and  the  bills  clog- 
ged by  numbers,  will  make  the  best  men  in  the 
world  seem  foul  and  unhandsome,  and  stained 
with  the  characters  of  death  and  evil  dishonor. 
But  for  these  there  is  appointed  a  defender  ; 
the  Holy  Spirit,  that  maketh  intercession  for 
us,  shall  then  also  interpose,  and  against  all 
these  things  shall  oppose  the  passion  of  our 
blessed  Lord,  and  upon  all  their  defects  shall 
cast  "  the  robe  of  his  righteousness  "  ;  and  the 
sins  of  their  youth  shall  not  prevail  so  much  as 
the  repentance  of  their  age  ;  and  their  omissions 
be  excused  by  probable  intervening  causes ; 
and  their  little  escapes  shall  appear  single  and 
in  disunion,  because  they  were  always  kept 
asunder  by  penitential  prayers  and  sighings, 
and  their  seldom  returns  of  sin  by  their  daily 
watchfulness,  and  their  often  infirmities  by  the 
sincerity  of  their  souls,  and  their  scruples  by 
their  zeal,  and  their  passions  by  their  love,  and 
all   by  the  mercies  of  God  and   the   sacrifice 


PR  A  YER.  55 


wliich  their  Judge  offered,  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
made  effective  by  daily  graces  and  assistances. 


PRAYER. 

T  KNOW  not  which  is  the  greater  wonder, 
-*-  either  that  prayer,  which  is  a  duty  so  easy 
and  facile,  so  ready  and  adapted  to  the  powers 
and  skill  and  opportunities  of  every  man,  should 
have  so  great  effects,  and  be  productive  of  such 
mighty  blessings  ;  or,  that  we  should  be  so  un- 
willing to  use  so  easy  an  instrument  of  procur- 
ing so  much  good.  The  first  declares  God's 
goodness,  but  this  publishes  man's  folly  and 
weakness,  who  finds  in  himself  so  much  diffi- 
culty to  perform  a  condition  so  easy  and  full 
of  advantage.  But  the  order  of  this  felicity  is 
knotted  like  the  foldings  of  a  serpent ;  all  those 
parts  of  easmess  which  invite  us  to  do  the  duty 
are  become  like  the  joints  of  a  bulrush,  not 
bendings,  but  consolidations  and  stiffenings ; 
the  very  facility  becomes  its  objection,  and  in 
every  of  its  stages  we  make  or  find  a  huge 
uneasiness.  At  first  we  do  not  know  what  to 
ask  ;  and  when  we  do,  then  we  find  difficulty 
to  bring  our  will  to  desire  it ;  and  when  that  is 
instructed  and  kept  in  awe,  it  mingles  interest, 
and  confounds   the   purposes  ;  and  when  it  is 


56  PRA  YER. 

forced  to  ask  honestly  and  severely,  then  it 
wills  so  coldly,  that  God  hates  the  prayer ;  and 
if  it  desires  fervently,  it  sometimes  tm-ns  that 
into  passion,  and  that  passion  breaks  into  mur- 
murs or  unquietness  ;  or  if  that  be  avoided,  the 
indifferency  cools  into  death,  or  the  fire  bui'ns 
violently  and  is  quickly  spent ;  our  desires  are 
duU  as  a  rock,  or  fugitive  as  lightning :  either 
we  ask  ill  things  earnestly,  or  good  things  re- 
missly ;  we  either  court  oiu'  own  danger,  or  are 
not  zealous  for  our  real  safety ;  or  if  we  be 
right  in  our  matter,  or  earnest  in  our  affections, 
and  lasting  in  our  abode,  yet  we  miss  in  the 
manner ;  and  either  we  ask  for  evil  ends,  or 
without  religious  and  awful  apprehensions  ;  or 
we  rest  in  the  words  and  signification  of  the 
prayer,  and  never  take  care  to  pass  on  to  ac- 
tion ;  or  else  we  sacrifice  in  the  company  of 
Corah,  being  partners  of  a  schism,  or  a  rebel- 
lion in  religion  ;  or  we  bring  unhallowed  cen- 
sers, our  hearts  send  up  to  God  an  unholy 
smoke,  a  cloud  fi-om  the  fires  of  lust,  and  either 
the  flames  of  lust  or  rage,  of  wine  or  revenge, 
kindle  the  beast  that  is  laid  upon  the  altar  ;  or 
we  bring  swine's  flesh,  or  a  dog's  neck  ;  where- 
as God  never  accepts,  or  delights  in  a  prayer, 
unless  it  be  for  a  holy  thing,  to  a  lawful  end, 
presented  unto  him  upon  the  wings  of  zeal  and 
love,  of  religious  sorrow,  or  religious  joy,  by 
sanctified  lips,  and  piu'e  hands,  and  a  sincere 


PRAYER.  57 

heart.  It  must  be  the  prayer  of  a  graciotis 
man ;  and  he  is  only  gracious  before  God,  and 
acceptable,  and  effective  in  his  prayer,  whose 
life  is  holy,  and  whose  prayer  is  holy  ;  for  both 
these  are  necessary  ingredients  to  the  constitu- 
tion of  a  prevailing  prayer ;  there  is  a  hohness 
peculiar  to  the  man,  and  a  holiness  peculiar  to 
the  prayer,  that  must  adorn  the  prayer  before 
it  can  be  united  to  the  intercession  of  the  holy 
Jesus,  in  which  union  alone  our  prayers  can  be 
prevailing. 

Lust  and  uncleanness  are  a  direct  enemy  to 
the  prapng  man,  an  obstruction  to  his  prayers ; 
for  this  is  not  only  a  profanation,  but  a  direct 
sacrilege  ;  it  defiles  a  temple  to  the  ground  ;  it 
takes  fi'om  a  man  all  affection  to  spiritual 
things,  and  mingles  his  very  soul  with  the 
thuigs  of  the  world  ;  it  makes  his  understand- 
ing low,  and  his  reasonings  cheap  and  foohsh, 
and  it  destroys  his  confidence,  and  all  his  man- 
ly hopes  ;  it  makes  his  spirit  light,  effeminate, 
and  fantastic,  and  dissolves  his  attention ;  and 
makes  his  mind  so  to  disaffect  all  the  objects  of 
his  desires,  that  when  he  prays  he  is  as  uneasy 
as  an  impaled  person,  or  a  condemned  criminal 
upon  the  hook  or  wheel :  and  it  hath  in  it  this 
evU  quality,  that  a  lustfid  person  cannot  pray 
heartUy  against  his  sin  ;  he  cannot  desire  his 
cure,  for  his  will  is  contradictory  to  his  collect, 
and  he   would  not  that  God  should  hear  the 


58  PBA  YER. 

words  of  liis  prayer,  wlr'ch  he,  poor  man,  never 
intended.  For  no  crime  so  seizes  upon  the  will 
as  that ;  some  sins  steal  an  aftection,  or  obey  a 
temptation,  or  secure  an  interest,  or  work  by 
the  way  of  understanding,  but  lust  seizes  di- 
rectly upon  the  will,  for  the  devil  knows  Avell 
that  the  lusts  of  the  body,  are  soon  cured  ;  the 
uneasiness  that  dwells  there  is  a  disease  very 
tolerable,  and  every  degree  of  patience  can  pass 
under  it.  But  therefore  the  devil  seizes  upon 
the  will,  and  that  is  it  that  makes  advilteries  and 
all  the  species  of  uncleanness ;  and  lust  grows 
so  hard  a  cure,  because  the  formality  of  it  is, 
that  it  will  not  be  cured  ;  the  will  loves  it,  and, 
so  long  as  it  does,  God  cannot  love  the  man  ; 
for  God  is  the  prince  of  purities,  and  the  Son 
of  God  is  the  kmg  of  virgms,  and  the  Holy 
Spuit  is  all  love,  and  that  is  all  purity,  and  all 
spu-ituality :  and  therefore  the  prayer  of  an 
adulterer,  or  an  unclean  person,  is  like  the  sac- 
rifices to  Moloch,  or  the  rites  of  Flora,  "  ubi 
Cato  spectator  esse  non  potuit.''^  A  good  man 
will  not  endure  them ;  much  less  will  God 
entertain  such  reekings  of  the  Dead  Sea  and 
clouds  of  Sodom.  For  so  an  impure  vapor, 
begotten  of  the  slime  of  the  earth  by  the  fevers 
and  adulterous  heats  of  an  intemperate  summer- 
sun,  striving  by  the  ladder  of  a  mountain  to 
chmb  up  to  heaven,  and  rolling  into  various 
figures  by  an  uneasy,  unfixed  revolution,  and 


PEA  TER.  59 

stopped  at  the  middle  region  of  the  air,  being 
thrown  fi'om  his  pride  and  attempt  of  jaassing 
towards  the  seat  of  the  stars,  tiu'ns  into  an  un- 
wholesome flame,  and,  like  the  breath  of  hell,  is 
confined  into  a  prison  of  darkness,  and  a  cloud, 
till  it  breaks  into  diseases,  plagues,  and  niU- 
dews,  stink  and  blastings  :  so  is  the  prayer  of 
an  unchaste  person ;  it  strives  to  chmb  the  bat- 
tlements of  heaven,  but  because  it  is  a  flame  of 
sulphur,  salt,  and  bitumen,  and  was  kindled  m 
the  dishonorable  regions  below,  derived  from 
hell,  and  contrary  to  God,  it  cannot  pass  forth 
to  the  element  of  love,  but  ends  in  barrenness 
and  murmiu',  fantastic  expectations,  and  trifling 
unaginative  confidences  ;  and  they  at  last  end 
in  sorrows  and  despair.  Every  state  of  sin  is 
against  the  possibility  of  a  man's  being  ac- 
cepted ;  but  these  have  a  proper  venom  against 
the  graciovisness  of  the  person,  and  the  power 
of  the  prayer.  God  can  never  accept  an  lui- 
holy  prayer,  and  a  wicked  man  can  never  send 
forth  any  other ;  the  waters  pass  through  im- 
pure aqueducts  and  channels  of  brimstone,  and 
therefore  may  end  in  brimstone  and  fire,  but 
never  in  forgiveness  and  the  blessings  of  an 
etenial  charity. 

Henceforth,  therefore,  never  any  more  w^on- 
der  that  men  pray  so  seldom  ;  there  are  few 
that  feel  the  relish,  and  are  enticed  with  the 
deliciousness,  and  refi-eshed  with  the  comforts, 


60  PR  A  YER. 

and  instmcted  with  the  sanctity,  and  acquainted 
with  the  secrets  of  a  holy  prayer  :  but  cease 
also  to  wonder,  that  of  those  few  that  say  many 
prayers,  so  few  find  any  return  of  any  at  all. 
To  make  up  a  good  and  a  lawful  prayer,  there 
must  be  charity,  with  all  its  daughters,  alms, 
forgiveness,  not  judging  i  uncharitably  ;  there 
must  be  purity  of  spirit,  that  is,  purity  of  inten- 
tion ;  and  there  must  be  purity  of  the  body  and 
soul,  that  is,  the  cleanness  of  chastity ;  and 
there  must  be  no  vice  remaining,  no  affection 
to  sin  :  for  he  that  brings  his  body  to  God,  and 
hath  left  his  will  in  the  power  of  any  sin,  offers 
to  God  the  calves  of  his  hps,  but  not  a  whole 
burnt-offering  ;  a  lame  oblation,  but  not  a  "  rea- 
sonable sacrifice  ";  and  therefore  their  portion 
shall  be  amongst  them  whose  prayers  were 
never  recorded  in  the  book  of  life,  whose  tears 
God  never  put  into  his  bottle,  whose  desires 
shall  remain  ineffectual  to  eternal  ages. 

Plutarch  reports,  that  the  Tyrians  tied  their 
gods  with  chains,  because  certain  persons  did 
dream  that  Apollo  said  he  would  leave  their 
city  and  go  to  the  party  of  Alexander,  who 
then  besieged  the  town  :  and  Apollodorus  tells 
of  some,  that  tied  the  image  of  Saturn  with 
bands  of  wool  upon  his  feet.  So  some  Cliris- 
tians ;  they  think  God  is  tied  to  their  sect,  and 
bound  to  be  of  their  side,  and  the  interest  of 
their  opinion ;  and  they  think,  he  can  never  go 


PR  A  TER.  61 

to  the  enemy's  party,  so  long  as  they  charm 
hhn  Avith  certain  forms  of  words  or  disguises  of 
their  own  ;  and  then  all  the  success  they  have, 
and  all  the  evils  that  are  prosperous,  all  the 
mischiefs  they  do,  and  all  the  ambitious  designs 
that  do  succeed,  they  reckon  upon  the  account 
of  their  prayers ;  and^well  they  may :  for  their 
prayers  are  sins,  and  their  desires  are  evil ; 
they  wish  mischief,  and  they  act  iniquity,  and 
they  enjoy  their  sin :  and  if  this  be  a  blessing 
or  a  cursing,  themselves  shall  then  judge,  and 
all  the  world  shall  perceive,  when  the  accounts 
of  all  the  world  are  truly  stated ;  then,  when 
prosperity  shall  be  called  to  accounts,  and  ad- 
versity shall  receive  its  comforts,  when  virtue 
shall  have  a  crown,  and  the  satisfaction  of  all 
sinful  desires  shall  be  recompensed  with  an  in- 
tolerable sorrow,  and  the  despau'  of  a  perishing 
soul.  Nero's  mother  prayed  passionately,  that 
her  son  might  be  emperor ;  and  many  persons, 
of  whom  St.  James  speaks,  "pray  to  spend  vipon 
their  lusts,"  and  they  are  heard  too :  some 
were  not,  and  very  many  are  :  and  some,  that 
fight  against  a  just  possessor  of  a  country,  pray, 
that  their  wars  may  be  prosperous  ;  and  some- 
times they  have  been  heard  too :  and  Julian 
the  Apostate  prayed,  and  sacrificed,  and  in- 
quired of  demons,  and  burned  man's  flesh,  and 
operated  with  secret  rites,  and  all  that  he 
might  craftily  and  powerfully  oppose  the  relig- 


62  PRAYER. 

ion  of  Christ ;  and  he  was  heard  too,  and  did 
mischief  beyond  the  maUce  and  the  effect  of 
his  predecessors,  that  did  swim  in  Christian 
blood.  But  when  we  sum  up  the  accounts  at 
the  foot  of  their  hves,  or  so  soon  as  the  thing 
was  understood,  we  find  that  the  effect  of  Ag- 
grippina's  prayer  was,  that  her  son  murdered 
her ;  and  of  those  lustful  petitioners,  in  St. 
James,  that  they  were  given  over  to  the  tyr- 
anny and  possession  of  their  passions  and 
baser  appetites  ;  and  the  effect  of  Julian  the 
Apostate's  prayer  was,  that  he  lived  and  died 
a  professed  enemy,  of  Christ ;  and  the  effect  of 
the  prayers  of  usurpers  is,  that  they  do  mis- 
chief, and  reap  curses,  and  undo  mankind,  and 
provoke  God,  and  live  hated,  and  die  miser- 
able, and  shall  possess  the  fruit  of  their  sin  to 
eternal  ages. 

The  first  thing  that  hinders  the  prayer  of  a 
good  man  from  obtaining  its  effects  is  a  violent 
anger,  and  a  violent  storm  in  the  spirit  of  him 
that  prays.  .  For  anger  sets  the  house  on  fire, 
and  all  the  spirits  are  busy  upon  trouble,  and 
intend  propulsion,  defence,  displeasure,  or  re- 
venge ;  it  is  a  short  madness,  and  an  eternal 
enemy  to  discourse,  and  sober  counsels,  and 
fair  conversation ;  it  intends  its  own  object  with 
all  the  earnestness  of  perception,  or  activity 
of  design,  and  a  quicker  motion  of  a  too  warm 
and   distempered   blood ;   it  is  a  fever  in  the 


PRAYER.  63 

heart,  and  a  calenture  in  the  head,  and  a  fire 
in  the  face,  and  a  sword  in  the  hand,  and  a 
fury  all  over  ;  and  therefore  can  never  suffer  a 
man  to  be  in  a  disposition  to  pray.    For  prayer 
is   an   action,  and  a  state   of  intercourse  and 
desire,  exactly  contrary  to  this  character  of 
anger.     Prayer  is  an  action  of  likeness  to  the 
Holy  Ghost,  the  spirit  of  gentleness  and  dove- 
like simplicity ;  an  imitation  of  the  holy  Jesus, 
whose  spirit  is  meek,  up  to  the  greatness  of 
the  biggest  example ;  and  a  conformity  to  God, 
whose    anger    is    always    just,    and    marches 
slowly,  and  is  without  transportation,  and  often 
hindered,  and  never  hasty,  and  is  full  of  mercy : 
prayer  is  the  peace  of  om*  spirit,  the  stillness 
of  our  thoughts,  the  evenness  of  recollection, 
the  seat  of  meditation,  the  rest  of  our  cares, 
and  the   calm  of  our  tempest ;   prayer  is  the 
issue  of  a  quiet  mind,  of  untroubled  thoughts ; 
it  is  the  daughter  of  charity,  and  the  sister  of 
meekness  ;   and  he  that  prays  to  God  with  an 
angry,  that  is,  with  a  troubled  and  discomposed 
spirit,  is  like  him  that  retires  into  a  battle  to 
meditate,  and  sets  up  his  closet  in  the   out- 
quarters  of  an  army,  and  chooses  a  frontier- 
garrison  to  be  wise  in.      Anger  is  a  perfect 
ahenation  of  the  mind  from  prayer,  and  there- 
fore is  contrary  to  that  attention  which  pre- 
sents our  prayers  in  a  right  line  to  God.     For 
so  have  I  seen  a  lark  rising  from  his  bed  of 


64  PRA  TER. 

grass,  and  soaring  upwards,  singing  as  he  rises, 
and  hopes  to  get  to  heaven,  and  climb  above 
the  clouds  ;  but  the  poor  bird  was  beaten  back 
with  the  loud  sia;hino;s  of  an  eastern  wind,  and 
his  motion  made  irregular  and  inconstant,  de- 
scending more  at  every  breath  of  the  tempest 
than  it  could  recover  by  the  libration  and  fre- 
quent weighing  of  his  wings ;  till  the  little 
creature  was  forced  to  sit  down  and  pant,  and 
stay  till  the  storm  was  over ;  and  then  it  made 
a  prosperous  flight,  and  did  rise  and  sing,  as 
if  it  had  learned  music  and  motion  from  an 
angel,  as  he  passed  sometimes  through  the  air 
about  his  ministries  here  below.  So  is  the 
prayer  of  a  good  man ;  when  his  affairs  have 
required  business,  and  his  business  was  matter 
of  discipline,  and  his  discipline  was  to  pass  upon 
a  sinning  person,  or  had  a  design  of  charity,  his 
duty  met  with  the  infirmities  of  a  man,  and 
anger  was  its  instrument,  and  the  instrument 
became  stronger  than  the  prime  agent,  and 
raised  a  tempest,  and  overruled  the  man ;  and 
then  his  prayer  was  broken,  and  his  thoughts 
were  troubled,  and  his  words  went  up  towards 
a  cloud,  and  his  thoughts  pulled  them  back 
again  and  made  them  without  intention ;  and 
the  good  man  sighs  for  his  infirmity,  but  must 
be  content  to  lose  the  prayer,  and  he  must 
recover  it  when  his  anger  is  removed,  and  his 
spirit  is  becalmed,  made  even  as  the  brow  of 


PRATER.  65 

Jesus,  and  smooth  like  the  heart  of  God  ;  and 
then  it  ascends  to  heaven  upon  the  wings  of 
the  holy  dove,  and  dwells  with  God,  till  it 
returns,  like  the  useful  bee,  laden  with  a  bless- 
ing and  the  dew  of  heaven. 

But,  then,  for  spiritual  things,  for  the  inter- 
est of  our  souls,  and  the  affairs  of  the  king- 
dom, we  praj  to  God  \dt\\  just  such  a  zeal  as 
a  man  begs  of  a  surgeon  to  cut  him  of  the 
stone,  or  a  condemned  man  desires  his  execu- 
tioner quickly  to  put  him  out  of  his  pain,  by 
takuig  away  his  life  ;  when  thmgs  are  come  to 
that  pass,  it  must  be  done,  but  God  knows  with 
what  little  complacency  and  desire  the  man 
makes  his  request.  And  yet  the  things  of  re- 
ligion and  the  spuit  are  the  only  tilings  that 
ought  to  be  desu-ed  vehemently,  and  pursued 
passionately,  becaixse  God  hath  set  such  a  value 
upon  them,  that  they  are  the  effects  of  his 
greatest  loving-kindness ;  they  are  the  pur- 
chases of  Christ's  blood,  and  the  effect  of  his 
continual  intercession  ;  the  fruits  of  his  bloody 
sacrifice,  and  the  gifts  of  his  healing  and  saving 
mercy;  the  graces  of  God's  spirit,  and  the  only 
instruments  of  fehcity ;  and  if  we  can  have 
fondness  for  things  indifferent  or  dangerous, 
our  prayers  upbraid  our  spirits  when  we  beg 
coldly  and  tamely  for  those  things  for  Avhich 
we  ought  to  die,  which  are  more  precious  than 
the  globes  of  kmgs,  and  weightier  than  imperial 


66  PBA  YER. 

sceptres,  richer  than  the  spoils  of  the  sea,  or 
the  treasures  of  the  Indian  hills. 

He  tliat  is  cold  and  tame  in  his  prayers,  hath 
not  tasted  of  the  deliciousness  of  religion  and 
the  goodness  of  God  ;  he  is  a  stranger  to  the 
secrets  of  the  kingdom,  and  therefore  he  does 
not  know  what  it  is  either  to  have  hunger  or 
satiety  ;  and  therefore  neither  are  they  hungry 
for  God  nor  satisfied  with  the  world,  but  re- 
main stupid  and  inapprehensive,  without  resolu- 
tion and  determination,  never  choosing  clearly, 
nor  pursuing  earnestly ;  and  therefore  never 
enter  into  possession,  but  always  stand  at  the 
gate  of  weariness,  unnecessary  caution,  and 
perpetual  irresolution.  But  so  it  is  too  often 
in  our  prayers ;  we  come  to  God  because  it  is 
civil  so  to  do  and  a  general  custom,  but  neither 
drawn  thither  by  love,  nor  pinched  by  spirit- 
ual necessities,  and  pungent  apprehensions  : 
we  say  so  many  prayers,  because  we  are  re- 
solved so  to  do,  and  we  pass  tlirough  them, 
sometimes  with  a  little  attention,  sometimes 
with  none  at  all ;  and  can  we  think  that  the 
grace  of  chastity  can  be  obtained  at  such  a 
pvurchase,  that  grace  that  hath  cost  more  la- 
bors than  all  the  persecutions  of  faith,  and  all 
the  disputes  of  hope,  and  all  the  expense  of 
charity  besides,  amounts  to  ?  Can  we  expect 
that  our  sins  should  be  washed  by  a  lazy  prayer  ? 

Though  your  person  be  as  gracious  as  David 


PR  A  YER.  67 

or  Job,  and  your  desire  as  holy  as  the  love  of 
angels,  and  your  necessities  great  as  a  new- 
penitent,  yet  it  pierces  not  the  clouds,  unless 
it  be  also  as  loud  as  thunder,  passionate  as  the 
cries  of  women,  and  clamorous  as  necessity. 
For  every  prayer  we  make  is  considered  by 
God,  and  recorded  in  heaven  ;  but  cold  prayers 
are  not  put  into  the  account  in  order  to  effect 
an  acceptation,  but  are  laid  aside  like  the  buds 
of  roses  which  a  cold  wind  hath  nipped  into 
death,  and  the  discolored  tawny  face  of  an 
Indian  slave  :  and  when,  in  order  to  your  hopes 
of  obtaining  a  gi'eat  blessing,  you  reckon  up 
your  prayers  with  which  you  have  solicited 
your  suit  in  the  court  of  heaven,  you  must 
reckon,  not  by  the  number  of  the  collects,  but 
by  your  sighs  and  passions,  by  the  vehemence 
of  your  desires  and  the  fervor  of  your  spirit, 
the  apprehension  of  your  need  and  the  con- 
sequent prosecution  of  your  supply.  Christ 
prayed  "  with  loud  cryings,"  and  St.  Paul 
made  mention  of  his  scholars  in  his  prayers 
"  night  and  day."  Fall  upon  yom*  knees  and 
grow  there,  and  let  not  your  desires  cool  nor 
your  zeal  remit,  but  renew  it  again  and  again  ; 
and  let  not  your  offices  and  the  custom  of  pray- 
ing put  thee  in  mind  of  thy  need,  but  let  thy 
need  draw  thee  to  thy  holy  offices ;  and  remem- 
ber how  great  a  God,  how  glorious  a  Majesty 
you  speak  to  ;  therefore  let  not  your  devotions 


'68  PSA  YER. 

and  addresses  be  little.  Remember  how  great 
a  need  tliou  hast ;  let  not  your  desires  be  less. 
Remember  how  great  the  thing  is  you  pray 
for  ;  do  not  undervalue  it  with  any  indifFerency. 
Remember  that  prayer  is  an  act  of  religion ; 
let  it,  therefore,  be  made  thy  business  :  and, 
lastly,  remember  that  God  hates  a  cold  prayer, 
and,  therefore,  will  never  bless  it,  but  it  shall 
be  always  ineffectual. 

No  prayers  can  prevail  upon  an  indisposed 
person.  For  the  sun  himself  cannot  enlighten 
a  blind  eye,  nor  the  soul  move  a  body  whose 
silver  cord  is  loosed,  and  whose  joints  are  un- 
tied by  the  rudeness  and  dissolutions  of  a  per- 
tinacious sickness.  But  then,  suppose  an  eye 
quick  and  healthfiil,  or  apt  to  be  refreshed  with 
light  and  a  friendly  prospect ;  yet  a  glow-worm 
or  a  diamond,  the  shells  of  pearl,  or  a  dead 
man's  candle,  are  not  enough  to  make  him  dis- 
cern the  beauties  of  the  world,  and  to  admire 
the  glories  of  creation. 

A  man  of  an  ordinary  piety  is  like  Gideon's 
fleece,  wet  in  its  own  locks,  but  it  could  not 
water  a  poor  man's  garden.  But  so  does  a 
thirsty  land  drink  all  the  dew  of  heaven  that 
wets  its  face,  and  a  greater  shower  makes  no 
torrent,  nor  digs  so  much  as  a  little  ftirrow, 
that  the  drills  of  the  water  might  pass  into 
rivers,  or  refr^esh  their  neighbor's  weariness ; 
but  when  the  earth  is  frill,  and  hath  no  strange 


PRAYER.  69 

consumptive  needs,  then  at  the  next  time  when 
God  blesses  it  with  a  gracious  shower,  it  divides 
into  portions,  and  sends  it  abroad  in  free  and 
equal  communications,  that  all  that  stand  rovmd 
about  may  feel  the  shower.  So  is  a  good 
man's  prayer  ;  his  own  cup  is  full,  it  is  crowned 
with  health,  and  overflows  with  blessings,  and 
all  that  ch-ink  of  liis  cup  and  eat  at  his  table 
are  refreshed  with  his  joys,  and  divide  with  him 
in  his  holy  portions. 

The  world  itself  is  established  and  kept  from 
dissolution  by  the  prayers  of  saints  ;  and  the 
prayers  of  saints  shall  hasten  the  day  of  judg- 
ment; and  we  cannot  easily  find  two  effects 
greater.  But  there  are  many  other  very  great 
ones  ;  for  the  prayers  of  holy  men  appease 
God's  wrath,  drive  away  temptations,  and  resist 
and  overcome  the  devil :  holy  prayer  procures 
the  ministry  and  service  of  angels,  it  rescinds 
the  decrees  of  God,  it  cures  sicknesses  and 
obtains  pardon,  it  arrests  the  sun  in  its  course, 
and  stays  the  wheels  of  the  chariot  of  the 
moon ;  it  rules  over  all  God's  creatures,  and 
opens  and  shuts  the  storehouses  of  rain  ;  it 
unlocks  the  cabinet  of  the  womb,  and  quenches 
the  violence  of  fire  ;  it  stops  the  mouths  of 
lions,  and  reconciles  our  sufferance  and  weak 
faculties  with  the  violence  of  torment  and 
sharpness  of  persecution  ;  it  pleases  God  and 
supplies  all  our  needs. 


70  PARDON   OF  SIN. 

Prayer  can  obtain  everything ;  it  can  open 
the  windows  of  heaven,  and  shut  the  gates  of 
hell ;  it  can  put  a  holy  constraint  upon  God, 
and  detain  an  angel  till  he  leave  a  blessino- :  it 
can  open  the  treasures  of  rain,  and  soften  the 
iron  ribs  of  rocks,  till  they  melt  into  tears  and 
a  flowing  river  ;  prayer  can  unclasp  the  girdles 
of  the  north,  saying  to  a  mountain  of  ice.  Be 
thou  removed  hence,  and  cast  into  the  bottom 
of  the  sea ;  it  can  arrest  the  sun  in  the  midst 
of  his  course,  and  send  the  swift-winged  winds 
upon  our  errand  ;  and  all  those  strange  things, 
and  secret  decrees,  and  unrevealed  transactions, 
which  are  above  the  clouds  and  far  beyond  the 
regions  of  the  stars,  shall  combine  in  ministry 
and  advantages  for  the  praying  man. 


PARDON   OF   SIN. 

TF  we  consider  upon  how  trifling  and  incon- 
-*-  siderable  grounds  most  men  hope  for  pardon, 
(if  at  least  that  may  be  called  hope,  which  is 
nothing  but  a  careless  boldness,  and  an  imrea- 
sonable  wilful  confidence,)  we  shall  see  much 
cause  to  pity  very  many  who  are  going  merrily 
to  a  sad  and  intolerable  death.  Pardon  of  sins 
is  a  mercy  which  Christ  purchased  with  his 
dearest  blood,  which  he  ministers  to  us  upon 


PARDON   OF  SIN.  71 

conditions  of  an  infinite  kindness,  but  yet  of 
great  holiness  and  obedience,  and  an  active 
living  faith.  It  is  a  grace,  that  the  most  holy- 
persons  beg  of  God  with  mighty  passion,  and 
labor  for  with  a  great  diligence,  and  expect 
wath  trembling  fears,  and  concerning  it  many 
times  suffer  sadnesses  with  uncertain  souls,  and 
receive  it  by  degrees,  and  it  enters  upon  them 
by  Httle  portions,  and  it  is  broken  as  their  sighs 
and  sleeps.  But  so  have  I  seen  the  returning 
sea  enter  upon  the  strand  ;  and  the  waters  roll- 
ing towards  the  shore,  throw  up  little  portions 
of  the  tide,  and  retire  as  if  nature  meant  to 
play,  and  not  to  change  the  abode  of  waters ; 
but  still  the  flood  crept  by  little  stoppings,  and 
invaded  more  by  his  progressions  than  he  lost 
by  his  retreat ;  and  having  told  the  number  of 
its  steps,  it  possesses  its  new  portion  tiU  the 
angel  calls  it  back,  that  it  may  leave  its  un- 
faithful dwelling  of  the  sand.  So  is  the  pardon 
of  our  sm ;  it  comes  by  slow  motions,  and  first 
quits  a  present  death,  and  turns,  it  may  be, 
into  a  sharp  sickness ;  and  if  that  sickness  prove 
not  health  to  the  soul,  it  washes  off",  and  it  may 
be  will  dash  against  the  rock  again,  and  pro- 
ceed to  take  off  the  several  instances  of  anger 
and  the  periods  of  wrath  ;  but  all  this  while 
it  is  uncertain  concerning  our  final  interest, 
whether  it  be  ebb  or  flood ;  and  every  hearty 
prayer  and  every  bountiful  alms  still  enlarges 


72  GODLY  FEAR. 

the  pardon,  or  adds  a  degree  of  probability  and 
hope  ;  and  then  a  drunken  meeting,  or  a  covet- 
ous desire,  or  an  act  of  lust,  or  looser  swear- 
ing, idle  talk,  or  neglect  of  religion,  makes  the 
pardon  retire  ;  and  while  it  is  disputed  between 
Christ  and  Christ's  enemj,  who  shall  be  Lord, 
the  pardon  fluctuates  like  the  wave,  striving  to 
climb  the  rock,  and  is  washed  off  like  its  own 
retinue,  and  it  gets  possession  by  time  and  un- 
certainty, by  difficulty  and  the  degrees  of  a 
hard  progression. 


GODLY  FEAE. 

T?EAR  is  the  great  bridle  of  intemperance, 
-*-  the  modesty  of  the  spirit,  and  the  restramt 
of  gayeties  and  dissolutions  ;  it  is  the  girdle  to 
the  soul,  and  the  handmaid  to  repentance,  the 
arrest  of  sin,  and  the  cure  or  antidote  to  the 
spirit  of  reprobation ;  it  preserves  our  apprehen- 
sions of  the  divine  majesty,  and  hinders  our 
single  actions  from  combining  to  sinful  habits  ; 
it  is  the  mother  of  consideration,  and  the  nurse 
of  sober  comisels ;  and  it  puts  the  soul  to  fer- 
mentation and  activity,  making  it  to  pass  from 
trembling  to  caution,  from  caution  to  careful- 
ness, from  carefulness  to  watchftilness,  from 
thence  to  prudence  ;  and  by  the  gates  and  prog- 
resses of  repentance,  it   leads   the  soul  on  to 


GODLY  FEAR.  73 

love,  and  to  felicity,  and  to  joys  in  God  that 
shall  never  cease  again.  Fear  is  the  guard  of 
a  man  m  the  days  of  prosperity,  and  it  stands 
upon  the  watch-towers,  and  spies  the  approach- 
ing danger,  and  gives  warning  to  them  that 
laugh  loud,  and  feast  in  the  chambers  of  re- 
joicing, where  a  man  cannot  consider  by  reason 
of  the  noises  of  wme  and  jest  and  music :  and 
if  prudence  takes  it  by  the  hand,  and  leads  it 
on  to  duty,  it  is  a  state  of  grace,  and  a  mii- 
versal  instrument  to  infant  religion,  and  the 
only  security  of  the  less  perfect  persons ;  and 
in  all  senses  is  that  homao-e  we  owe  to  God, 
who  sends  often  to  demand  it,  even  then  when 
he  speaks  in  thunder,  or  smites  by  a  plague,  or 
awakens  us  by  threatenmgs,  or  discomposes  our 
cashless  by  sad  thoughts,  and  tender  eyes,  and 
fearful  hearts,  and  trembling  considerations. 

But  this  so  excellent  orace  is  soon  abused  m 
the  best  and  most  tender  spirits  ;  in  those  who 
are  softened  by  nature  and  by  religion,  by  in- 
fehcities  or  cares,  by  sudden  accidents  or  a  sad 
soul ;  and  the  devil,  observing  that  fear,  like  spare 
diet,  starves  the  fevers  of  lust  and  quenches 
the  flames  of  hell,  endeavors  to  heiohten  this 
abstinence  so  much  as  to  starve  the  man,  and 
break  the  spirit  into  timorousness  and  scruple, 
sadness  and  unreasonable  tremblings,  creduhty 
and  trifling  observation,  suspicion  and  false 
accusations  of  God ;  and  then  vice  being  turned 


74  GODLY  FEAR. 

out  at  tlie  gate,  returns  in  at  the  postern,  and 
does  the  work  of  hell  and  death  by  running 
too  mconsiderately  in  the  paths  which  seem  to 
lead  to  heaven.  But  so  have  I  seen  a  harm- 
less dove,  made  dark  with  an  artificial  night, 
and  her  eyes  sealed  and  locked  up  with  a  little 
quill,  soaring  upward  and  flying  with  amaze- 
ment, fear,  and  an  undiscerning  wing ;  she 
made  towards  heaven,  but  knew  not  that  she 
was  made  a  train  and  an  instrument  to  teach 
her  enemy  to  prevail  upon  her  and  all  her  de- 
fenceless kindred.  So  is  a  superstitious  man, 
zealous  and  blind,  forward  and  mistaken ;  he 
runs  towards  heaven,  as  he  thinks,  but  he 
chooses  foolish  paths,  and  out  of  fear  takes  any- 
thing that  he  is  told ;  or  fancies  and  guesses 
concerning  God  by  measures  taken  from  his 
own  diseases  and  imperfections.  But  fear, 
when  it  is  inordinate,  is  never  a  good  counsel- 
lor, nor  makes  a  good  friend ;  and  he  that  fears 
God  as  liis  enemy,  is  the  most  completely  mis- 
erable person  in  the  world.  For  if  he  with 
reason  beheves  God  to  be  his  enemy,  then  the 
man  needs  no  other  argument  to  prove  that  he 
is  undone  than  this,  that  the  fountain  of  bless- 
ing (in  this  state  in  which  the  man  is)  will 
never  issue  anything  upon  him  but  cursings. 
But  if  he  fears  this  without  reason,  he  makes 
his  fears  true  by  the  very  suspicion  of  God, 
doing  him  dishonor,  and  then  doing  those  fond 


GODLY  FEAR.  75 

and  trifling  acts  of  jealousy  which  will  make 
God  to  be  what  the  man  feared  he  ah-eady  was. 
We  do  not  know  God,  if  we  can  think  any  hard 
thing  concerning  him.  If  God  be  merciiul,  let 
us  only  fear  to  offend  him  ;  but  then  let  us 
never  be  fearfid  that  he  will  destroy  us,  when 
w^e  are  careful  not  to  displease  him.  There  are 
some  persons  so  miserable  and  scrupulous,  such 
perpetual  tormentors  of  themselves  with  unne- 
cessary fears,  that  theu*  meat  and  drink  is  a 
snare  to  theu'  consciences ;  if  they  eat,  they 
fear  they  are  gluttons ;  if  they  fast,  they  fear 
they  are  hypocrites ;  and  if  they  would  watch, 
they  complain  of  sleep  as  of  a  deadly  sin  ;  and 
every  temptation,  though  resisted,  makes  them 
cry  for  pardon  ;  and  every  return  of  such  an 
accident  makes  them  think  God  is  angry  ;  and 
every  anger  of  God  will  break  them  in  pieces. 
These  persons  do  not  believe  noble  things 
concerning  God ;  they  do  not  think  that  he  is 
as  ready  to  pardon  them  as  they  are  to  pardon 
a  sinning  servant  ;  they  do  not  believe  how 
much  God  dehghts  m  mercy,  nor  how  wise  he 
is  to  consider  and  to  make  abatement  for  our 
unavoidable  infirmities ;  they  make  judgment 
of  themselves  by  the  measures  of  an  angel, 
and  take  the  accomit  of  God  by  the  proj^or- 
tions  of  a  tyi'ant.  The  best  that  can  be  said 
concerning  such  persons  is,  that  they  are  huge- 
ly tempted,  or  hugely  ignorant.     For  although 


76  GODLY  FEAR. 

ignorance  is  by  some  persons  named  the  mother 
of  devotion,  yet,  if  it  falls  in  a  hard  ground,  it 
is  the  mother  of  atheism ;  if  in  a  soft  ground, 
it  is  the  parent  of  superstition  ;  but  if  it  pro- 
ceeds from  evil  or  mean  opinions  of  God,  (as 
such  scruples  and  unreasonable  fears  do  many 
times,)  it  is  an  evil  of  a  great  impiety,  and,  in 
some  sense,  if  it  were  in  equal  degrees,  is  as 
bad  as  atheism  ;  for  so  he  that  says  there  was 
no  such  man  as  Julius  Caesar  does  him  less  dis- 
pleasure than  he  that  says  there  was,  but  that 
he  was  a  tyrant  and  a  bloody  parricide.  And 
the  Cimmerians  were  not  esteemed  impious  for 
saying  that  there  was  no  sun  in  the  heavens ; 
but  Anaxagoras  was  esteemed  irreligious  for 
saying  the  sun  was  a  very  stone  :  and  though 
to  deny  there  is  a  God  is  a  high  impiety  and 
intolerable,  yet  he  says  worse  who,  believing 
there  is  a  God,  says  he  delights  in  human  sacri- 
fices, in  miseries  and  death,  in  tormenting  his 
servants,  and  punishing  their  very  infelicities 
and  unavoidable  mischances.  To  be  God,  and 
to  be  essentially  and  infinitely  good,  is  the 
same  thing  ;  and  therefore  to  deny  either  is 
to  be  reckoned  among  the  greatest  crimes  in 
the  world. 

Let  the  grounds  of  our  actions  be  noble, 
beginning  upon  reason,  proceeding  with  pru- 
dence, measured  by  the  common  lines  of  men, 
and  confident  upon  the  expectation  of  a  usual 


GODLY  FEAR.  77 

providence.  Let  us  proceed  from  causes  to 
effects,  from  natural  means  to  ordinaiy  events, 
and  believe  felicity  not  to  be  a  chance  but  a 
choice  ;  and  evil  to  be  the  daughter  of  sin  and 
the  divine  anger,  not  of  fortune  and  fancy.  Let 
us  fear  God  when  we  have  made  him  angry, 
and  not  be  afi'aid  of  him  when  we  heartily  and 
laboriously  do  our  duty.  Oiu'  fears  are  to  be 
measured  by  open  revelation  and  certain  expe- 
rience, by  the  threatenings  of  God  and  the  say- 
ings of  "svise  men,  and  their  hmit  is  reverence, 
and  godhness  is  their  end  ;  and  then  fear  shaU 
be  a  duty,  and  a  rare  instrument  of  many.  In 
all  other  cases  it  is  superstition  or  folly,  it  is 
sin  or  punishment,  the  ivy  of  religion,  and  the 
misery  of  an  honest  and  a  weak  heart ;  and  is 
to  be  cured  only  by  reason  and  good  company, 
a  wise  guide  and  a  plain  rule,  a  cheei-ftd  spirit 
and  a  contented  mind,  by  joy  in  God  according 
to  the  commandments,  that  is,  "  a  rejoicing 
evermore." 

The  illusions  of  a  weak  piety,  or  an  unskilfal 
confident  soul,  fancy  to  see  mountains  of  diffi- 
culty ;  but  touch  them,  and  they  seem  hke 
clouds  ricUng  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and 
put  on  shapes  as  we  please  to  dream.  He  that 
denies  to  give  alms  for  fear  of  being  poor,  or  to 
entertain  a  disciple  for  fear  of  being  suspected 
of  the  party,  or  to  own  a  duty  for  fear  of  being 
put  to  venture  for  a  crown  ;  he  that  takes  part 


78  HUMAN  WEAKNESS. 

of  the  intemperance  because  lie  dares  not  dis- 
please the  company,  or  in  any  sense  fears  the 
fears  of  the  world  and  not  the  fear  of  God, — 
tliis  man  enters  into  his  portion  of  fear  betimes, 
but  it  will  not  be  finished  to  eternal  ages.  To 
fear  the  censures  of  men,  when  God  is  your 
judge  ;  to  fear  their  evil,  when  God  is  yoiu' 
defence ;  to  fear  death,  when  he  is  the  entrance 
to  Hfe  and  felicity,  is  unreasonable  and  perni- 
cious. But  if  you  will  tiu-n  your  passion  into 
duty  and  joy  and  security,  fear  to  ofifend  God, 
to  enter  voluntarily  into  temptation  ;  fear  the 
alluring  face  of  lust,  and  the  smooth  entertain- 
ments of  intemperance  ;  fear  the  anger  of  God, 
when  you  have  deserved  it;  and,  when  you 
have  recovered  from  the  snare,  then  infinitely 
fear  to  return  into  that  condition,  in  which 
whosoever  dwells  is  the  heir  of  fear  and  eter- 
nal sorrow. 


HUMAN  WEAKNESS. 

^PIERE  is  nothing  that  creeps  upon  the 
-*-  earth,  nothing  that  ever  God  made,  weaker 
than  man.  For  God  fitted  horses  and  mules 
with  strength,  bees  and  pismires  with  sagacity, 
harts  and  hares  with  swiftness,  birds  with 
feathers  and  a  light  airy  body ;  and  they  all 
know   their    times,    and    are    fitted   for   their 


FAITH.  79 

work,  and  regularly  acqiiire  the  proper  end 
of  their  creation.  But  man,  that  was  de- 
signed to  an  immortal  duration,  and  the  frui- 
tion of  God  forever,  knows  not  how  to  ob- 
tam  it ;  he  is  made  upright  to  look  up  to 
heaven,  but  he  knows  no  more  how  to  pm*- 
chase  it  than  to  chmb  it.  Once,  man  went 
to  make  an  ambitious  tower  to  outreach  the 
clouds,  or  the  preternatural  risings  of  the 
water,  but  could  not  do  it ;  he  cannot  prom- 
ise himself  the  daily  bread  of  his  necessity 
upon  the  stock  of  his  own  wit  or  industry ; 
and  for  going  to  heaven,  he  was  so  far  from 
doing  that  naturally,  that  as  soon  as  ever  he 
was  made,  he  became  the  son  of  death,  and  he 
knew  not  how  to  get  a  pardon  for  eating  of 
an  apple  against  the  divine  commandment. 


FAITH. 

T7AITH  is  a  certain  image  of  eternity ;  all 
-^  things  are  present  to  it  ;  things  past  and 
things  to  come  are  all  so  before  the  eyes  of 
faith,  that  he  in  whose  eye  that  candle  is  en- 
kindled beholds  heaven  as  present,  and  sees 
how  blessed  a  thing  it  is  to  die  in  God's  favor, 
and  to  be  chimed  to  our  grave  with  the  music 
of  a  good  conscience.      Faith  converses  ^vith 


80  FAITH. 

the  angels,  and  antedates  the  hymns  of  glory ; 
every  man  that  hath  this  grace  is  as  certain 
that  there  are  glories  for  him,  if  he  perseveres 
in  duty,  as  if  he  had  heard  and  siing  the  thanks- 
givmg-song  for  the  blessed  sentence  of  dooms- 
day. And  therefore  it  is  no  matter  if  these 
things  are  separate  and  distant  objects  ;  none 
but  childi'en  and  fools  are  taken  with  the  pres- 
ent trifle,  and  neglect  a  distant  blessing  of 
which  they  have  credible  and  believed  notices. 
Did  the  merchant  see  the  pearls  and  the  wealth 
he  designed  to  get  in  the  trade  of  twenty 
years  ?  And  is  it  possible  that  a  child  should, 
when  he  learns  the  first  rudiments  of  grammar, 
know  what  excellent  things  there  are  in  learn- 
ing, whither  he  designs  his  labor  and  liis  hopes  ? 
We  labor  for  that  which  is  uncertain  and  dis- 
tant and  believed,  and  hoped  for  with  many 
allays,  and  seen  mth  diminution,  and  a  troubled 
ray  ;  and  what  excuse  can  there  be  that  we  do 
not  labor  for  that  which  is  told  us  by  God,  and 
preached  by  his  only  Son,  and  confirmed  by 
miracles,  and  which  Christ  himself  died  to  pur- 
chase, and  millions  of  martyrs  died  to  witness, 
and  which  we  see  good  men  and  wise  believe 
with  an  assent  stronger  than  their  evidence, 
and  which  they  do  believe  because  they  do 
love,  and  love  because  they  do  believe  ?  There 
is  nothing  to  be  said,  but  that  faith  which  did 
enlighten  the  bhnd,  and  cleanse  the  lepers,  and 


LUKEWABMNESS  AND  ZEAL.  81 

•washed  the  soul  of  the  Ethiopian  ;  that  faith 
that  cures  the  sick,  and  strengthens  the  para- 
lytic, and  baptizes  the  catechumens,  and  justi- 
fies the  faithful,  and  repairs  the  penitent,  and 
confirms  the  just,  and  crowns  the  martyrs ; 
that  faith,  if  it  be  true  and  proper.  Christian 
and  ahve,  active  and  effective  in  us,  is  suffi- 
cient to  appease  the  storm  of  our  passions,  and 
to  instruct  all  our  ignorances,  and  to  "  make  us 
wise  mi  to  salvation." 


LUKEWARMNESS  AND  ZEAL. 

A  S  our  duty  must  be  whole,  so  it  must  be 
•^■*-  fervent  ;  for  a  languishing  body  may  have 
all  its  parts,  and  yet  be  useless  to  many  pur- 
poses of  natiu'e  :  and  you  may  reckon  all  the 
joints  of  a  dead  man,  but  the  heart  is  cold,  and 
the  joints  are  stiff,  and  fit  for  nothmg  but  for 
the  little  people  that  creep  in  graves.  And  so 
are  very  many  men  ;  if  you  sum  up  the  ac- 
counts of  then'  religion,  they  can  reckon  days 
and  months  of  religion,  various  offices,  charity 
and  prayers,  reading  and  meditation,  faith  and 
knowledge,  catecliism  and  sacraments,  duty  to 
God  and  duty  to  princes,  paying  debts  and  pro- 
vision for  children,  confessions  and  tears,  disci- 
pline in  famihes,  and  love  of  good  people  ;  and 
6 


82  LUKEWARMNESS  AND  ZEAL. 

it  may  be,  you  shall  not  rej^rove  their  mimbers, 
or  find  any  lines  mifilled  in  their  tables  of 
accounts.  But  when  you  have  handled  all 
tliis,  and  considered,  you  will  find  at  last  you 
have  taken  a  dead  man  by  the  hand ;  there  is 
not  a  finger  wanting,  but  they  are  stiff  as 
icicles,  and  without  flexure,  as  the  legs  of 
elephants. 

I  have  seen  a  fair  structure  begun  with  art 
and  care,  and  raised  to  half  its  statui'e,  and 
then  it  stood  still  by  the  misfortune  or  negli- 
gence of  the  owner ;  and  the  rain  descended, 
and  dwelt  in  its  joints,  and  supplanted  the  con- 
texture of  its  pillars ;  and  having  stood  a  while 
like  the  antiquated  temple  of  a  deceased  ora- 
cle, it  fell  into  a  hasty  age,  and  sunk  upon  its 
own  knees,  and  so  descended  into  ruin.  So  is 
the  imperfect,  unfinished  spirit  of  a  man  ;  it 
lays  the  foundation  of  a  holy  resolution,  and 
strengthens  it  with  vows  and  arts  of  prosecu- 
tion ;  it  raises  up  the  walls,  sacraments,  and 
prayers,  reading,  and  holy  ordinances ;  and 
holy  actions  begin  with  a  slow  motion,  and  the 
buildhig  stays,  and  the  spirit  is  weary,  and  the 
soul  is  naked,  and  exposed  to  temptations,  and 
in  the  days  of  storm  takes  in  everythmg  that 
can  do  it  mischief ;  and  it  is  faint  and  sick,  list- 
less and  tu'ed,  and  it  stands  till  its  own  weight 
wearies  the  foundation,  and  then  dechnes  to 
death  and  sad  disorder. 


LUKEWARMNESS  AND  ZEAL.  83 

However  it  be  very  easy  to  have  our  thoughts 
wander,  yet  it  is  oiu'  indifFerency  and  lukewarm- 
ness  that  makes  it  so  natui'al :  and  you  may  ob- 
serve it,  that  so  long  as  the  hght  shines  bright, 
and  the  fires  of  devotion  and  desires  flame  out, 
so  lone  the  mind  of  a  man  stands  close  to  the 
altar,  and  waits  upon  the  sacrifice ;  but  as  the 
fires  die  and  desires  decay,  so  the  mind  steals 
away,  and  walks  abroad  to  see  the  Httle  images 
of  beauty  and  pleastu'e,  which  it  beholds  in  the 
falling  stars  and  httle  glow-worms  of  the  world. 
The  river  that  runs  slow  and  creeps  by  the 
banks,  and  begs  leave  of  every  turf  to  let  it 
pass,  is  drawn  into  httle  hollo\^^lesses,  and 
spends  itself  in  smaller  portions,  and  dies  with 
diversion ;  but  when  it  runs  with  vigorousness 
and  a  full  stream,  and  breaks  down  every  ob- 
stacle, making  it  even  as  its  own  brow,  it  stays 
not  to  be  tempted  by  httle  avocations,  and  to 
creep  into  holes,  but  rims  into  the  sea  through 
full  and  useful  channels.  So  is  a  man's  prayer ; 
if  it  moves  upon  the  feet  of  an  abated  appetite, 
it  wanders  into  the  society  of  every  trifling 
accident,  and  stays  at  the  comers  of  the  fancy, 
and  talks  with  every  object  it  meets,  and  can- 
not arrive  at  heaven  ;  but  when  it  is  carried 
upon  the  wings  of  passion  and  strong  desires,  a 
swift  motion  and  a  hungry  appetite,  it  passes  on 
through  all  the  intermedial  regions  of  clouds, 
and  stays  not  till  it  dwells  at  the  foot  of  the 


84  LUKEWARMNESS  AND  ZEAL. 

tlirone,  where  mei'cy  sits,  and  thence  sends 
holy  showers  of  refreshment.  I  deny  not  but 
some  httle  drops  will  turn  aside,  and  fall  from 
the  full  channel  by  the  weakness  of  the  banks, 
and  hollowness  of  the  passage  ;  but  the  main 
course  is  still  continued  :  and  although  the  most 
earnest  and  devout  persons  feel  and  complain 
of  some  looseness  of  spirit,  and  unfixed  atten- 
tions, yet  their  love  and  their  desire  secm*e  the 
main  portions,  and  make  the  prayer  to  be 
strong,  fervent,  and  eflFectual. 

He  that  is  warm  to-day  and  cold  to-morrow, 
zealous  in  his  resolution  and  weary  in  his  prac- 
tices, fierce  in  the  beginning  and  slack  and 
easy  in  his  progress,  hath  not  yet  well  chosen 
what  side  he  will  be  of;  he  sees  not  reason 
enough  for  religion,  and  he  hath  not  confidence 
enough  for  its  contrary  ;  and  therefore  he  is,  as 
St.  James  calls  him,  "of  a  doubtftil  mind." 
For  religion  is  worth  as  much  to-day  as  it  was 
yesterday,  and  that  cannot  change  though  we 
do ;  and  if  we  do,  we  have  left  God ;  and 
whither  he  can  go  that  goes  from  God,  his  own 
sorrows  will  soon  enousrh  instruct  him.  This 
fire  must  never  go  out,  but  it  must  be  like  the 
fire  of  heaven,  it  must  shine  like  the  stars ; 
though  sometimes  covered  with  a  cloud,  or  ob- 
scured by  a  greater  light,  yet  they  dwell  for- 
ever in  their  orbs,  and  walk  in  their  circles,  and 
observe  their  circumstances,  but  go  not  out  by 


LUKEWARMNESS   AND    ZEAL.  85 

day  nor  niglit,  and  set  not  when  kings  die,  nor 
are  extinguished  when  nations  change  their 
government.  So  must  the  zeal  of  a  Christian 
be  a  constant  mcentive  of  his  duty ;  and  though 
sometimes  his  hand  is  drawn  back  by  violence 
or  need,  and  his  prayers  shortened  by  the  im- 
portunity of  business,  and  some  parts  omitted 
by  necessities  and  just  compliances,  yet  still  the 
fire  is  kept  alive,  it  burns  within  when  the  light 
breaks  not  forth,  and  is  eternal  as  the  orb  of 
fire,  or  the  embers  of  the  altar  of  incense. 

In  every  action  of  religion  God  expects  such 
a  warmth,  and  a  holy  fire  to  go  along,  that  it 
may  be  able  to  enkindle  the  wood  upon  the 
altar,  and  consume  the  sacrifice  ;  but  God  hates 
an  indifferent  spirit.  Earnestness  and  vivacity, 
quickness  and  delight,  perfect  choice  of  the 
service  and  a  dehght  in  the  prosecution,  is  all 
that  the  spirit  of  a  man  can  yield  towards  his 
rehcnon :  the  outward  work  is  the  effect  of  the 
body ;  but  if  a  man  does  it  heartily  and  with  all 
his  mind,  then  religion  hath  wings  and  moves 
upon  wheels  of  fire. 

The  zeal  of  the  Apostles  was  this :  they 
preached  publicly  and  privately,  they  prayed 
for  all  men,  they  wept  to  God  for  the  hardness 
of  men's  hearts,  they  "  became  all  things  to  all 
men,  that  they  might  gain  some,"  they  travel- 
led through  deeps  and  deserts,  they  endured 
the  heat  of  the  Syrian  star  and  the  violence  of 


86  LUKEWARMNESS  AND  ZEAL. 

Euroclydon,  winds  and  tempests,  seas  and  pris- 
ons, mockings  and  sconrgings,  fastings  and 
poverty,  labor  and  watching ;  they  endured 
every  man  and  wronged  no  man  ;  they  would 
do  any  good  thing  and  suffer  any  evil,  if  they 
had  but  hopes  to  prevail  upon  a  soul ;  they 
persuaded  men  meekly,  they  entreated  them 
humbly,  they  convinced  them  powerfully  ;  they 
watched  for  their  good,  but  meddled  not  with 
their  interest:  and  this  is  the  Christian  zeal, 
the  zeal  of  meekness,  the  zeal  of  charity,  the 
zeal  of  patience. 

The  Jews  tell  that  Adam,  having  seen  the 
beauties  and  tasted  the  delicacies  of  paradise, 
repented  and  mourned  upon  the  Indian  moun- 
tains for  three  hundred  years  together  :  and  we, 
who  have  a  great  share  in  the  cause  of  his  sor- 
rows, can  by  nothing  be  invited  to  a  persever- 
ing, a  great,  a  passionate  religion,  more  than 
by  remembering  what  he  lost,  and  what  is  laid 
up  for  them  whose  hearts  are  burning  lamps, 
and  are  all  on  fire  with  divine  love,  whose 
flames  are  fanned  with  the  wings  of  the  holy 
dove,  and  whose  spirits  shine  and  burn  with 
that  fire  which  the  holy  Jesus  came  to  en- 
kindle upon  the  earth. 


THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST.  87 


THE  EPICUEE'S  FEAST. 

T  ET  us  eat  and  drink  ;  for  to-morrow  we 
^  die."  This  is  the  epicure's  proverb,  begun 
upon  a  weak  mistake,  started  by  chance  from 
the  discourses  of  drink,  and  thought  witty  by 
the  undiscernmg  company,  and  prevailed  in- 
finitely, because  it  struck  their  fancy  luckily, 
and  mamtained  the  merry-meeting  ;  but,  as  it 
happens  commonly  to  such  discourses,  so  this 
also,  when  it  comes  to  be  examined  by  the  con- 
sultations of  the  morning,  and  the  sober  hours 
of  the  day,  it  seems  the  most  TN^tless  and  the 
most  unreasonable  in  the  world.  "When  Seneca 
describes  the  spare  diet  of  Epicm-us  and  Me- 
trodorus,  he  uses  this  expression  :  "  Liberaliora 
sunt  ahmenta  carceris ;  sepositos  ad  capitale 
supplicium,  non  tam  anguste,  qui  occisurus  est, 
pascit,"  —  The  prison  keeps  a  better  table  ;  and 
lie  that  is  to  kill  the  criminal  to-morrow  morn- 
ing gives  him  a  better  supper  over  night.  By 
this  he  intended  to  represent  his  meal  to  be 
very  short ;  for  as  dying  persons  have  but  little 
stomach  to  feast  high,  so  they  that  mean  to  cut 
their  throat  will  think  it  a  vain  expense  to  please 
it  with  delicacies,  which  after  the  first  altera- 
tion must  be  poured  upon  the  gi'ound,  and 
looked  upon  as  the  worst  part  of  the  accursed 
tiling.     And  there  is  also  the  same  proportion 


88  THE  EPICURE-' S  FEAST. 

of  unreasonableness,  that,  because  men  shall  die 
to-morrow,  and  by  the  sentence  and  unalter- 
able decree  of  God  they  are  now  descending  to 
their  graves,  that  therefore  they  should  first 
destroy  their  reason,  and  then  force  dull  time 
to  run  faster,  that  they  may  die  sottish  as 
beasts,  and  speedily  as  a  fly.  But  they  thought 
there  was  no  life  after  this  ;  or  if  there  were, 
it  was  without  pleasure,  and  every  soul  thrust 
into  a  hole,  and  a  dormitory  of  a  span's  length 
allowed  for  his  rest,  and  for  his  walk ;  and  in 
the  shades  below  no  numbering  of  healths  by 
the  numeral  letters  of  Philenium's  name,  no  fat 
mullets,  no  oysters  of  Lucrinus,  no  Lesbian  or 
Chian  wines.  Therefore  now  enjoy  the  deli- 
cacies of  nature,  and  feel  the  descending  wines 
distilled  through  the  limbeck  of  thy  tongue  and 
larynx,  and  suck  the  dehcious  juice  of  fishes, 
the  marrow  of  the  laborious  ox,  and  the  tender 
lard  of  Apulian  swine,  and  the  condited  bellies 
of  the  scarus ;  but  lose  no  time,  for  the  sun 
drives  hard,  and  the  shadow  is  long,  and  the 
days  of  mourning  are  at  hand,  but  the  number 
of  the  days  of  darkness  and  the  grave  cannot 
be  told. 

Thus  they  thought  they  discoursed  wisely, 
and  their  wisdom  was  turned  into  folly ;  for  all 
their  arts  of  providence,  and  witty  securities 
of  pleasure,  were  nothing  but  unmanly  pro- 
logues to  death,  fear  and  folly,  sensuality  and 


THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST.  89 

beastly  pleasures.  But  they  are  to  be  excused 
rather  than  we.  They  placed  themselves  in 
the  order  of  beasts  and  birds,  and  esteemed 
their  bodies  nothing  but  receptacles  of  flesh 
and  wine,  larders  and  pantries  ;  and  their  soul 
the  fine  instrument  of  pleasure  and  brisk  re- 
ception, of  relishes  and  gusts,  reflections  and 
duplications  of  delight ;  and  therefore  they 
treated  themselves  accordingly.  But  then  why 
we  should  do  the  same  things,  who  are  led  by 
other  principles,  and  a  more  severe  institution, 
and  better  notices  of  immortality,  who  under- 
stand  what  shall  happen  to  a  soul  hereafter, 
and  know  that  this  time  is  but  a  passage  to 
eternity,  this  body  but  a  servant  to  the  soul, 
this  soul  a  minister  to  the  spirit,  and  the  whole 
man  in  order  to  God  and  to  felicity;  this,  I 
say,  is  more  unreasonable  than  to  eat  aconite 
to  preserve  our  health,  and  to  enter  into  the 
flood  that  we  may  die  a  dry  death ;  this  is  a 
perfect  contradiction  to  the  state  of  good 
things,  whither  we  are  designed,  and  to  all 
the  principles  of  a  wise  philosophy,  whereby 
we  are  instructed  that  we  may  become  wise 
unto  salvation. 

Plenty  and  the  pleasures  of  the  world  ai'e 
no  proper  instruments  of  fehcity.  It  is  neces- 
sary that  a  man  have  some  violence  done  to 
himself  before  he  can  receive  them  :  for  na- 
ture's bounds  are,  "  non  esurire,  non  sitire,  non 


90  THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST. 

algere^''  to  be  quit  from  hunger  and  thirst  and 
cold,  —  that  is,  to  have  nothing  upon  us  that 
puts  us  to  pain ;  against  which  she  hath  made 
provisions  by  the  fleece  of  the  sheep  and  the 
skins  of  the  beasts,  by  the  waters  of  the  foun- 
tain and  the  herbs  of  the  field ;  and  of  these 
no  good  man  is  destitute,  for  that  share  that  he 
can  need  to  fill  those  appetites  and  necessities 
he  cannot  otherwise  avoid.  For  it  is  unimao-in- 
able  that  nature  should  be  a  mother,  natural 
and  indulgent  to  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  and 
the  spawn  of  fishes,  to  every  plant  and  fungus, 
to  cats  and  owls,  to  moles  and  bats,  making 
her  storehouses  always  to  stand  open  to  them  ; 
and  that,  for  the  Lord  of  all  these,  even  to  the 
noblest  of  her  productions,  she  should  have 
made  no  provisions,  and  only  produced  in  us 
appetites  sharp  as  the  stomach  of  wolves,  troub- 
lesome as  the  tiger's  hunger,  and  then  run 
away,  leaving  art  and  chance,  violence  and 
study,  to  feed  us  and  to  clothe  us.  This  is  so 
far  firom  truth,  that  we  are  certainly  more  pro- 
vided for  by  nature  than  all  the  world  besides ; 
for  everything  can  minister  to  us  ;  and  we  can 
pass  into  none  of  nature's  cabinets,  but  we  can 
find  our  table  spread  :  so  that  what  David  said 
to  God,  "  Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  pres- 
ence ?  If  I  go  to  heaven,  thou  art  there  ;  if  I 
descend  to  the  deep,  thou  art  there  also  ;  if  I 
take  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  flee  into 


THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST.  91 

the  uttermost  parts  of  the  wilderness,  even 
there  thou  wilt  find  me  out,  and  thy  right 
hand  shall  uphold  me,"  we  may  say  it  concern- 
ing our  table  and  our  wardrobe.  If  we  go 
into  the  fields,  we  find  them  tilled  by  the  mer- 
cies of  heaven,  and  watered  with  showers  from 
God,  to  feed  us,  and  to  clothe  us.  If  we  go 
down  into  the  deep,  there  God  hath  multiplied 
our  stores,  and  filled  a  magazine  which  no 
hunger  can  exhaust.  The  air  drops  down  deh- 
cacies,  and  the  wilderness  can  sustain  us ;  and 
all  that  is  in  nature,  that  which  feeds  lions,  and 
that  which  the  ox  eats,  that  which  the  fishes 
live  upon,  and  that  which  is  the  provision  for 
the  birds,  all  that  can  keep  us  alive.  And  if  we 
consider  that  of  the  beasts  and  birds,  for  whom 
nature  hath  provided  but  one  dish,  it  may  be 
flesh  or  fish,  or  herbs  or  flies,  and  these  also  we 
secure  with  guards  from  them,  and  drive  away 
birds  and  beasts  from  that  provision  which  na- 
ture made  for  them,  yet  seldom  can  we  find 
that  any  of  these  perish  with  hunger  ;  much 
rather  shall  we  find  that  we  are  secured  bv  the 
securities  proper  for  the  more  noble  creatures 
by  that  Providence  that  disposes  all  things ;  by 
that  mercy  that  gives  us  all  things  which  to 
other  creatures  are  ministered  singly ;  by  that 
labor  that  can  procure  what  we  need  ;  by  that 
wisdom  that  can  consider  concerning  future 
necessities  ;   by  that  power    that  can  force  it 


92  THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST. 

from  inferior  creatures  ;  and  by  that  temper- 
ance which  can  fit  our  meat  to  our  necessities. 
For  if  we  go  be3^ond  what  is  needful,  as  we 
find  sometimes  more  than  was  promised,  and 
very  often  more  than  we  need,  so  we  disorder 
the  certainty  of  our  fehcity,  by  putting  that  to 
hazard  which  nature  hath  secured.  For  it  is 
not  certain,  that,  if  we  desire  to  have  the 
wealth  of  Susa,  or  garments  stained  with  the 
blood  of  the  Tyrian  fish,  that,  if  we  desire  to 
feed  like  Philoxenus,  or  to  have  tables  laden 
like  the  boards  of  Vitellius,  that  we  shall  never 
want.  It  is  not  natvire  that  desires  these 
things,  but  lust  and  violence  ;  and  by  a  disease 
we  entered  into  the  passion  and  the  necessity, 
and  in  that  state  of  trouble  it  is  likely  we  may 
dwell  forever,  unless  we  reduce  our  appetites 
to  nature's  measures.  And  therefore  it  is  that 
plenty  and  pleasures  are  not  the  proper  instru- 
ments of  felicity.  Because  felicity  is  not  a 
jewel  that  can  be  locked  in  one  man's  cabinet. 
God  intended  that  all  men  should  be  made 
happy  ;  and  he  that  gave  to  all  men  the  same 
natural  desires,  and  to  all  men  provision  of 
satisfactions  by  the  same  meats  and  drinks, 
intended  that  it  sliould  not  go  beyond  that 
measure  of  good  things,  which  corresponds  to 
those  desires  which  all  men  naturally  have. 

He  that   cannot   be    satisfied  with  common 
provision,  hath  a   bigger   need   than   he   that 


THE   EPICURE'S   FEAST.  93 

can ;  it  is  harder,  and  more  contingent,  and 
more  difficult,  and  more  troublesome  for  him 
to  be  satisfied,  "I  feed  sweetly,"  said  Epicu- 
rus, "  upon  bread  and  water,  those  sweet  and 
easy  provisions  of  the  body,  and  I  defy  the 
pleasures  of  costly  provisions  "  ;  and  the  man 
was  so  confident  that  he  had  the  advantage 
over  wealthy  tables,  that  he  thought  himself 
happy  as  the  immortal  gods.  For  these  pro- 
visions are  easy,  they  are  to  be  gotten  without 
amazing  cares  ;  no  man  needs  to  flatter  if  he 
can  live  as  nature  did  intend :  "  Magna  pars 
libertatis  est  bene  moratus  venter " ;  he  need 
not  swell  his  accounts,  and  intricate  his  spirit 
with  arts  of  subtilty  and  contrivance  ;  he  can 
be  free  from  fears,  and  the  chances  of  the 
world  cannot  concern  him.  And  this  is  true, 
not  only -in  those  severe  and  anchoretical  and 
philosophical  persons,  who  hved  meanly  as  a 
sheep,  and  without  variety  as  the  Baptist,  but 
in  the  same  proportion  it  is  also  true  in  every 
man  that  can  be  contented  with  that  which  is 
honestly  sufficient.  Maximus  Tyrius  considers 
concerning  the  felicity  of  Diogenes,  a  poor 
Sinopean,  having  not  so  much  nobility  as  to 
be  bom  in  the  better  parts  of  Greece  :  but  he 
saw  that  he  was  compelled  by  no  tyrant  to 
speak  or  do  ignobly ;  he  had  no  fields  to  tUl, 
and  therefore  took  no  care  to  buy  cattle,  and 
to  hire  servants ;  he  was  not  distracted  when  a 


94  THE   EPICURE'S   FEAST. 

rent-day  came,  and  feared  not  when  tlie  wise 
Greeks  played  the  fool  and  fought  who  should 
be  lord  of  that  field  that  lay  between  Thebes 
and  Athens ;  he  laughed  to  see  men  scramble 
for  dirty  silver,  and  spend  ten  thousand  Attic 
talents  for  the  gettinor  the  revenues  of  two 
hmidred  phihppics  ;  he  went  with  his  staff  and 
bag  into  the  camp  of  the  Phocenses,  and  the 
soldiers  reverenced  his  person  and  despised  his 
poverty,  and  it  was  truce  with  him  whosoever 
had  wars  ;  and  the  chadem  of  kings  and  the 
piu'ple  of  the  emperors,  the  mitre  of  high- 
priests  and  the  divining-staff  of  soothsayers, 
were  things  of  envy  and  ambition,  the  piu'- 
chase  of  danger,  and  the  rewards  of  a  mighty 
passion  ;  and  men  entered  into  them  by  trouble 
and  extreme  difficulty,  and  dwelt  under  them 
as  a  man  under  a  falling  roof,  or  as  Damocles 
under  the  tyrant's  sword,  sleeping  like  a  con- 
demned man  ;  and  let  there  be  what  pleasure 
men  can  dream  of  in  such  broken  slumbers, 
yet  the  fear  of  waking  from  this  illusion,  and 
parting  from  this  fantastic  pleasure,  is  a  pain 
and  torment  which  the  imaginary  felicity  can- 
not pay  for. 

All  our  trouble  is  from  within  us  ;  and  if  a 
dish  of  lettuce  and  a  clear  fountain  can  cool  all 
my  heats,  so  that  I  shall  have  neither  thirst 
nor  pride,  lust  nor  revenge,  envy  nor  ambition, 
I  am  lodged  in  the  bosom  of  fehcity  ;  and,  in- 


THE  EPICURE'S  FEAST.  95 

deed,  no  men  sleep  so  soundly  as  they  that  lay 
then*  head  upon  nature's  lap.  For  a  smgle 
dish,  and  a  clean  chahce  lifted  from  the  springs, 
can  ciu'e  my  hunger  and  thirst ;  but  the  meat 
of  Ahasuerus's  feast  cannot  satisfy  my  ambition 
and  my  pride.  He,  therefore,  that  hath  the 
fewest  desires  and  the  most  quiet  passions, 
whose  wants  are  soon  provided  for,  and  whose 
possessions  cannot  be  disturbed  with  violent 
fears,  he  that  dwells  next  door  to  satisfaction, 
and  can  carry  his  needs  and  lay  them  down 
where  he  pleases,  —  this  man  is  the  happy 
man ;  and  this  is  not  to  be  done  m  great  de- 
signs and  swelling  fortunes.  For  as  it  is  in 
plants  which  nature  thrusts  forth  fi-om  her 
navel,  she  makes  regular  provisions,  and  dresses 
them  with  strength  and  ornament,  with  easiness 
and  frill  stature  ;  but  if  you  thrust  a  jessamine 
there  where  she  would  have  had  a  daisy  grow, 
or  bring  the  tall  fir  from  dwelling  in  his  own 
country,  and  transport  the  orange-  or  the  al- 
mond-tree near  the  fringes  of  the  north  star, 
nature  is  displeased,  and  becomes  unnatural, 
and  starves  her  sucklings,  and  renders  you  a 
return  less  than  your  charge  and  expectation. 
So  it  is  in  all  our  appetites  ;  when  they  are 
natural  and  proper,  nature  feeds  them  and 
makes  them  healthful  and  lusty,  as  the  coarse 
issue  of  the  Scythian  clown  ;  she  feeds  them 
and  makes  them  easy  without  cares  and  costly 


96  THE   EPICURE'S  FEAST. 

passions.  But  if  you  thrust  an  appetite  into 
her  wliich  she  intended  not,  she  gives  you 
sickly  and  uneasy  banquets,  you  must  struggle 
with  her  for  every  drop  of  milk  she  gives  be- 
yond her  own  needs ;  you  may  get  gold  from 
her  entrails,  and  at  a  great  charge  provide  or- 
naments for  your  queens  and  princely  women : 
but  your  hves  are  spent  in  the  purchase ;  and 
when  you  have  got  them  you  must  have  more ; 
for  these  cannot  content  you,  nor  nourish  the 
spirit.  A  man  must  labor  infinitely  to  get 
more  than  he  needs  ;  but  to  di'ive  away  tliirst 
and  hunger,  a  man  needs  not  sit  in  the  fields 
of  the  oppressed  poor,  nor  lead  armies,  nor 
break  his  sleep,  nor  suffer  shame  and  danger, 
and  envy  and  affront,  and  aU  the  retinue  of 
infehcity. 

If  men  did  but  know  what  felicity  dwells  in 
the  cottage  of  the  poor  man,  how  sound  his 
sleep,  how  quiet  his  breast,  how  composed  his 
mind,  how  free  from  care,  how  easy  his  pro- 
vision, how  healthful  his  morning,  how  §ober 
his  night,  how  moist  his  mouth,  how  joyful  his 
heart,  they  would  never  admu-e  the  noises  and 
the  diseases,  the  throng  of  passions  and  the 
violence  of  unnatural  appetites,  that  fill  the 
houses  of  the  luxuiious  and  the  heart  of  the 
ambitious.  These  which  you  call  pleasiures  are 
but  the  imagery  and  fantastic  appearances,  and 
such  appearances  even  poor  men  may  have. 


THE  EPICURE'S   FEAST.  97 

It  is  like  felicity,  that  tlie  king  of  Persia  sliould 
come  to  Babylon  in  the  winter,  and  to  Susa  in 
the  summer ;  and  be  attended  with  all  the  ser- 
vants of  one  hiuidi'ed  and  twenty-seven  prov- 
inces, and  ■\\^th  all  the  prmces  of  Asia.  It  is  like 
this,  that  Diogenes  went  to  Corinth  in  the  time 
of  vintage,  and  to  Athens  when  winter  came ; 
and  instead  of  courts,  visited  the  temples  and 
the  schools,  and  was  pleased  in  the  society  of 
scholars  and  learned  men,  and  conversed  with 
the  students  of  all  Asia  and  Europe.  If  a  man 
loves  privacy,  the  poor  fortune  can  have  that 
when  princes  cannot ;  if  he  loves  noises,  he  can 
go  to  markets  and  to  courts,  and  may  glut 
liimself  with  strange  faces  and  strange  voices 
and  strange  manners,  and  the  wild  design  of 
all  the  world.  And  when  that  day  comes 
in  which  we  shall  die,  nothing  of  the  eating 
and  drinking  remains,  nothing  of  the  pomp  and 
luxmy,  but  the  son'ow  to  part  with  it,  and 
shame  to  have  dwelt  there  where  wisdom  and 
virtue  seldom  come,  unless  it  be  to  call  men  to 
sober  counsels,  to  a  plain  and  a  severe  and 
more  natural  way  of  living ;  and  when  Lucian 
derides  the  dead  princes  and  generals,  and  says 
that  in  hell  they  go  up  and  down  selhng  salt 
meats  and  crpng  mussels,  or  begging ;  and  he 
brings  in  Philip  of  Macedon,  mending  of  shoes 
in  a  little  stall ;  he  intended  to  represent,  that  in 

the  shades  below,  and  in  the  state  of  the  grave, 

7 


98  INTEMPERANCE. 

the  princes  and  voluptuous  have  a  being  differ- 
ent from  their  present  plenty ;  but  that  their 
condition  is  made  contemptible  and  miserable 
by  its  disproportion  to  their  lost  and  perishing 
voluptuousness.  The  result  is  this,  that  Tiresias 
told  the  ghost  of  Menippus,  inquiring  what 
state  of  life  was  nearest  to  fehcity,  the  private 
life,  that  which  is  free  from  tumult  and  vanity, 
noise  and  luxury,  business  and  ambition,  near- 
est to  nature,  and  a  just  entertainment  to 
om'  necessities ;  that  life  is  nearest  to  felicity. 
Therefore  despise  the  swellings  and  the  dis- 
eases of  a  disordered  life,  and  a  proud  vanity ; 
be  troubled  for  no  outward  thing  beyond  its 
merit,  enjoy  the  present  temperately,  and  you 
cannot  choose  but  be  pleased  to  see  that  you 
have  so  Kttle  share  in  the  follies  and  miseries 
of  the  intemperate  world. 


INTEMPEEANCE. 

TNTEMPERANCE  m  eating  and  drinking  is 
■*-  an  enemy  to  health ;  which  is,  as  one  calls 
it,  "  ansa  voluptatum  et  condimentum  vitoe  "  ; 
it  is  that  handle  by  which  we  can  apprehend 
and  perceive  pleasures,  and  that  sauce  that 
only  makes  hfe  delicate ;  for  what  content  can 
a  frill  table  administer  to  a  man  in  a  fever  ? 


INTEMPERANCE.  99 

Health  is  the  opportunity  of  wisdom,  the  fair- 
est scene  of  religion,  the  advantages  of  the 
glorifications  of  God,  the  charitable  ministries 
to  men  ;  it  is  a  state  of  joy  and  thanksgiving, 
and  m  every  of  its  periods  feels  a  pleasure  from 
the  blessed  emanations  of  a  merciful  Provi- 
dence. The  world  does  not  minister,  does 
not  feel,  a  greater  pleasure,  than  to  be  newly 
delivered  from  the  racks  or  the  gratings  of  the 
stone,  and  the  torments  and  convulsions  of  a 
sharp  colic  ;  and  no  organs,  no  harp,  no  lute, 
can  sound  out  the  praises  of  the  Almighty 
Father  so  sprightfully,  as  the  man  that  rises 
from  his  bed  of  sorrows,  and  considers  what  an 
excellent  difference  he  feels  from  the  groans 
and  intolerable  accents  of  yesterday. 

When  Cyms  had  espied  Astyages  and  his 
fellows  coming  dnink  from  a  banquet,  laden 
with  varietv  of  folhes  and  filthiness,  their  legs 
failing  them,  their  eyes  red  and  staring,  coz- 
ened with  a  moist  cloud,  and  abused  by  a 
doubled  object,  their  tongues  full  of  sponges, 
and  their  heads  no  wiser,  he  thought  they 
were  poisoned :  and  he  had  reason ;  for  what 
malignant  quality  can  be  more  venomous  and 
hurtful  to  a  man  than  the  effect  of  an  Intem- 
perate goblet  and  a  frill  stomach?  It  poisons 
both  the  soul  and  body.  All  poisons  do  not 
kill  presently,  and  this  wIU  in  process  of  time, 
and  hath  formidable  effects  at  present. 


100  INTEMPERANCE. 

But,  therefore,  metliinks  tlie  temptations 
which  men  meet  withal  from  without,  are 
in  themselves  most  unreasonable  and  soon- 
est confuted  by  us.  He  that  tempts  me  to 
drmk  beyond  my  measure,  civilly  invites  me 
to  a  fever,  and  to  lay  aside  my  reason  as 
the  Persian  women  did  their  garments  and 
their  modesty  at  the  end  of  feasts  ;  and  all 
the  question  then  will  be,  which  is  the  worst 
evil,  to  refuse  your  uncivil  kindness,  or  to 
suffer  a  violent  headache,  or  to  lay  up  heaps 
big  enough  for  an  Enghsh  surfeit.  Creon 
in  the  tragedy  said  well,  "It  is  better  for 
me  to  grieve  thee,  O  stranger,  or  to  be  af- 
ronted  by  thee,  than  to  be  tormented  by  thy 
kindness  the  next  day  and  the  morrow  after." 

It  is  reported  concerning  Socrates,  that 
when  Athens  was  destroyed  by  the  plague, 
he  in  the  midst  of  all  the  danger  escaped 
untouched  by  sickness,  because  by  a  spare 
and  severe  diet  he  had  within  him  no  tu- 
mult of  disorderly  humors,  no  factions  in  his 
blood,  no  loads  of  moisture  prepared  for  char- 
nel-houses or  the  sickly  hospitals  ;  but  a  vig- 
orous heat,  and  a  well-proportioned  radical 
moisture  ;  he  had  enough  for  health  and  study, 
philosophy  and  religion,  for  the  temples  and 
the  academy,  but  no  superfluities  to  be  spent 
in  groans  and  sickly  nights.  Strange  it  is  that 
for  the  stomach,  which  is  scarce  a  span  long, 


INTEMPERANCE.  101 

there  should  be  provided  so  many  furnaces  and 
ovens,  huge  fires  and  an  army  of  cooks,  cellars 
swimmmg  with  wine,  and  granaries  sweating 
with  com  ;  and  that  mto  one  belly  should 
enter  the  vintage  of  many  nations,  the  spoils 
of  distant  provinces,  and  the  shell-fishes  of  sev- 
eral seas.  When  the  heathens  feasted  their 
gods,  they  gave  nothing  but  a  fat  ox,  a  ram, 
or  a  kid  ;  they  poured  a  little  wine  upon  the 
altar,  and  burned  a  handful  of  mim  :  but  when 
they  feasted  themselves,  they  had  many  vessels 
filled  with  Campanian  wine,  turtles  of  Liguria, 
Sicilian  beeves,  and  wheat  ft'om  Eg}^t,  wild 
boars  from  Illyi-ium,  and  Grecian  sheep  ;  vari- 
ety, and  load,  and  cost,  and  curiosity  :  and  so 
do  we.  It  is  so  Httle  we  spend  in  religion,  and 
so  very  much  upon  ourselves,  so  httle  to  the 
poor,  and  so  without  measure  to  make  our- 
selves sick,  that  we  seem  to  be  in  love  with 
our  own  mischief,  and  so  passionate  for  neces- 
sity and  want,  that  we  strive  all  the  ways  we 
can  to  make  ourselves  need  more  than  nature 
intended.  I  end  this  consideration  with  the 
saying  of  the  cynic :  "  It  is  to  be  wondered  at, 
that  men  eat  so  much  for  pleasirre  sake  ;  and 
yet  for  the  same  pleasure  should  not  give  over 
eating,  and  betake  themselves  to  the  delights 
of  temperance,  since  to  be  healthful  and  holy 
is  so  great  a  pleasm^e."  However,  certain  it  is 
that  no  man  ever  repented  that  he  arose  from 


102  INTEMPERANCE. 

the  table  sober,  healthful,  and  with  his  wits 
about  lum ;  but  very  many  have  repented  that 
they  sat  so  long,  till  their  belhes  swelled,  and 
their  health,  and  their  virtue,  and  their  God  is 
departed  from  them. 

Intemperance  is  the  nurse  of  vice.  It 
makes  rage  and  choler,  pride  and  fantastic 
principles ;  it  makes  the  body  a  sea  of  hu- 
mors, and  those  humors  the  seat  of  violence. 
By  faring  deliciously  every  day,  men  become 
senseless  of  the  evils  of  mankind,  inapprehen- 
sive  of  the  troubles  of  their  brethren,  uncon- 
cerned in  the  changes  of  the  world,  and  the 
cries  of  the  poor,  the  hunger  of  the  father- 
less, and  the  thirst  of  widows.  Tyi-ants,  said 
Diogenes,  never  come  from  the  cottages  of 
them  that  eat  pulse  and  coarse  fare,  but  from 
the  delicious  beds  and  banquets  of  the  effemi- 
nate and  rich  feeders.  For,  to  maintain  plenty 
and  luxury,  sometimes  wars  are  necessary,  and 
oppressions  and  violence :  but  no  landlord  did 
ever  grind  the  face  of  his  tenants,  no  prince 
ever  sucked  blood  from  his  subjects,  for  the 
maintenance  of  a  sober  and  a  moderate  propor- 
tion of  good  things. 

Intemperance  is  a  perfect  destruction  of  wis- 
dom. A  full-gorged  belly  never  produced  a 
sprightly  mind  :  and  therefore  these  kind  of 
men  are  called  "  slow  bellies  " ;  so  St.  F'aul  con- 
cerning the  intemperate  Cretans,  out  of  their 


INTEMPERANCE.  103 

own  poet.     They  are  like  the  tigers  of  Brazil, 
which  when  they  are  empty  are  bold  and  swift 
and  ftdl  of  sagacity,  but  being  full,  sneak  away 
from  the  barking  of  a  village  dog.     So  are  these 
men,  wise    in  the   morning,  quick  and  fit   for 
business ;  but  when  the  sun  gives  the  sign  to 
spread  the  tables,  and  intemperance  brings  in 
the  messes,    and  dnmkenness  fills   the  bowls, 
then  the  man  falls  away  and  leaves  a  beast  in 
liis  room.     A  full  meal  is  hke  Sisera's  banquet, 
at  the  end  of  Avhich  there  is  a  nail  struck  mto  a 
man's  head  ;  it  knocks  a  man  down,  and  nails 
his  soul  to  the  sensual  mixtures  of  the  body. 
For  what  wisdom  can  be  expected  from  them 
whose  soul  dwells  in  clouds  of  meat,  and  floats 
up  and   down  in  wme,   like    the    spilled  cups 
which  fell  from  their  hands  when  they  could 
lift  them  to  their  heads  no  longer  ?     It  is  a  per- 
fect shipwreck  of  a  man  ;  the  pilot  is   drunk, 
and  the  helm  dashed  in  pieces,  and  the   ship 
first  reels,  and  by  swallowing  too  much  is  itself 
swallowed  up  at  last.     And  therefore  the  mad- 
ness of  the  young  fellows  of  Agrigentum,  who, 
being  drunk,  fancied  themselves  in  a  storm,  and 
the  house   the  ship,  was  more   than  the  wild 
fancy  of  their  cups ;  it  was  really  so,  they  were 
all  cast  away,  they  were  broken  in  pieces  by 
the  foul  disorder  of  the  storm.     The  senses  lan- 
guish, the  spark  of  divinity  that  dwells  within 
is  quenched  ;  and  the  mind  snorts,  dead  with 


104  INTEMPERANCE. 

sleep  and  fulness  in  the  fouler  regions  of  the 
belly. 

So  have  I  seen  the  eye  of  the  world  looking 
upon  a  fenny  bottom,  and  di'uiking  up  too  free 
draughts  of  moisture,  gathered  them  into  a 
cloud,  and  that  cloud  crept  about  his  face,  and 
made  him  first  look  red,  and  then  covered  him 
with  darkness  and  an  artificial  night :  so  is  our 
reason  at  a  feast.  The  clouds  gather  about  the 
head ;  and  according  to  the  method  and  period 
of  the  children,  and  productions  of  darkness,  it 
first  grows  red,  and  that  redness  tm-ns  into  an 
obscurity  and  a  thick  mist,  and  reason  is  lost 
to  all  use  and  profitableness  of  wise  and  sober 
discourses.  A  cloud  of  folly  and  distraction 
darkens  the  soul,  and  makes  it  crass  and  mate- 
rial, polluted  and  heavy,  clogged  and  laden  like 
the  body;  and  there  cannot  be  anything  said 
worse :  reason  turns  into  folly,  wine  and  flesh 
into  a  knot  of  clouds,  the  soul  itself  into  a  body, 
and  the  spirit  into  corrupted  meat.  There  is 
nothing  left  but  the  rewards  and  portions  of  a 
fool,  to  be  reaped  and  enjoyed  there,  where 
flesh  and  corruption  shall  dwell  to  eternal  ages  ; 
their  heads  are  gross,  their  souls  are  emerged 
in  matter,  and  drowaied  in  the  moistures  of  an 
unwholesome  cloud ;  they  are  dull  of  hearing, 
slow  in  apprehension,  and  to  action  they  are  as 
unable  as  the  hands  of  a  child  who  too  hastily 
hath  broken  the  enclosures  of  his  first  dwelling. 


INTEMPERANCE.  105 

And  now,  after  all  this,  I  pray  consider  what 
a  strange  madness  and  prodigious  folly  possess 
many  men,  that  they  love  to  swallow  death  and 
diseases  and  dishonor,  with  an  appetite  wdiich 
no  reason  can  restrain.  We  expect  our  ser- 
vants should  not  dare  to  touch  what  we  have 
forbidden  to  them  ;  we  are  watchful  that  our 
cliildren  should  not  swallow  poisons  and  filthi- 
ness  and  unwholesome  nourishment ;  we  take 
care  that  they  should  be  well-mannered  and 
ci\al  and  of  fair  demeanor ;  and  we  ourselves 
desh-e  to  be,  or  at  least  to  be  accounted,  wise, 
and  would  mfinitely  scorn  to  be  called  fools  ; 
and  we  are  so  great  lovers  of  health  that  we 
will  buy  it  at  any  rate  of  money  or  observance  : 
and  then  for  honor ;  it  is  that  which  the  chil- 
dren of  men  pursue  with  passion,  it  is  one  of  the 
noblest  rewards  of  virtue,  and  the  proper  orna- 
ment of  the  wise  and  valiant ;  and  yet  all  these 
thino-s  are  not  valued  or  considered  when  a 
merry  meeting,  or  a  looser  feast,  calls  upon  the 
man  to  act  a  scene  of  folly  and  madness,  and 
healthlessness  and  dishonor.  We  do  to  God 
what  we  severely  punish  in  our  servants ;  we 
correct  our  children  for  their  meddling  with 
dangers  which  themselves  prefer  before  immor- 
tality ;  and  though  no  man  thinks  himself  fit  to 
be  despised,  yet  he  is  willing  to  make  himself 
a  beast,  a  sot,  and  a  ridiculous  monkey,  with 
the  follies  and  vapors  of  wine  ;  and  when  he  is 


106  INTEMPERANCE. 

high  in  drink  or  fancy,  proud  as  a  Grecian  ora- 
tor in  the  midst  of  his  popular  noises,  at  the 
same  time  he  shall  talk  such  dirty  language, 
such  mean  low  things,  as  may  well  become  a 
changeling  and  a  fool,  for  whom  the  stocks  are 
prepared  by  the  laws,  and  the  just  scorn  of 
men. 

Every  drunkard  clothes  his  head  M'ith  a 
mighty  scorn,  and  makes  himself  lower  at  that 
time  than  the  meanest  of  his  servants.  The 
boys  can  laugh  at  him  when  he  is  led  like  a 
cripple,  directed  like  a  blind  man,  and  speaks, 
like  an  infant,  imperfect  noises,  lisping  with  a 
full  and  spongy  tong-ue,  and  an  empty  head,  and 
a  vain  and  foolish  heart.  So  cheaply  does  he 
part  with  his  honor  for  drink  or  loads  of  meat ; 
for  which  honor  he  is  ready  to  die,  rather  than 
hear  it  to  be  disparaged  by  another ;  when  him- 
self destroys  it,  as  bubbles  jDerish  with  the  breath 
of  children.  Do  not  the  laws  of  all  wise  na- 
tions mark  the  drunkard  for  a  fool,  with  the 
meanest  and  most  scornful  punishment  ?  And 
is  there  anything  in  the  world  so  foohsh  as  a 
man  that  is  drunk  ?  But,  good  God  !  what  an 
intolerable  sorrow  hath  seized  upon  great  por- 
tions of  mankind,  that  this  folly  and  madness 
shoiild  possess  the  greatest  spirits  and  the  wit- 
tiest men,  the  best  company,  the  most  sensible 
of  the  word  honor,  and  the  most  jealous  of 
losing  the  shadow,  and  the  most  careless  of  the 


MARRIAGE.  107 

thino-  ?  Is  it  not  a  horrid  thing,  that  a  wise  or 
a  crafty,  a  learned  or  a  noble  person,  should 
dishonor  himself  as  a  fool,  destroy  his  body  as  a 
murderer,  lessen  his  estate  as  a  prodigal,  dis- 
grace every  good  cause  that  he  can  pretend  to 
by  his  relation,  and  become  an  appellative  of 
scorn,  a  scene  of  laughter  or  derision,  and  all 
for  the  reward  of  forgetfulness  and  madness  ? 
for  there  are  in  immoderate  drmking  no  other 
pleasures. 

I  end  with  the  saying  of  a  wise  man  :  He  is 
fit  to  sit  at  the  table  of  the  Lord,  and  to  feast 
with  saints,  who  moderately  uses  the  creatures 
which  God  hath  given  him:  but  he  that  de- 
spises even  lawful  pleasures,  shall  not  only  sit 
and  feast  with  God,  but  reign  together  with 
him,  and  partake  of  his  glorious  kingdom. 


IVIARRIAGE. 

THE  first  blessing  God  gave  to  man  was 
society ;  and  that  society  was  a  marriage, 
and  that  marriage  was  confederate  by  God 
himself,  and  hallowed  by  a  blessing:  and  at 
the  same  time,  and  for  very  many  descending 
ages,  not  only  by  the  instinct  of  nature,  but  by 
a  superadded  forwardness,  (God  himself  inspir- 
ing the  desire,)  the  world  was  most  desirous  of 


108  MARRIAGE. 

children,  impatient  of  barrenness,  accounting 
single  life  a  curse,  and  a  childless  person  hated 
by  God.  The  world  was  rich  and  empty,  and 
able  to  provide  for  a  more  numerous  posterity 
than  it  had.  When  a  family  could  drive  their 
herds,  and  set  their  children  upon  camels,  and 
lead  them  till  they  saw  a  fat  soil  watered  with 
rivers,  and  there  sit  down  without  paying  rent, 
they  thought  of  nothing  but  to  have  great  fam- 
ilies, that  their  own  relations  might  swell  up 
to  a  patriarchate,  and  their  children  be  enough 
to  possess  all  the  regions  that  they  saw,  and 
their  grandchildren  become  princes,  and  them- 
selves build  cities  and  call  them  by  the  name 
of  a  child,  and  become  the  fountain  of  a 
nation. 

This  was  the  consequent  of  the  first  bless- 
ing, "  Increase  and  multiply."  The  next 
blessing  was  the  promise  of  the  Messiah  ;  and 
that  also  increased  in  men  and  women  a  won- 
derful desire  of  marriage  :  for  as  soon  as  God 
had  chosen  the  family  of  Abraham  to  be  the 
blessed  line  from  whence  the  world's  Re- 
deemer should  descend  according  to  the  flesh, 
every  of  his  daughters  hoped  to  have  the 
honor  to  be  his  mother,  or  his  grandmother, 
or  something  of  his  kindred  ;  and  to  be  child- 
less in  Israel  was  a  sorrow  to  the  Hebrew 
women,  great  as  the  slavery  of  Egypt,  or  their 
dishonors  in  the  land  of  their  captivity. 


MARRIAGE.  109 

But  when  the  Messiah  was  come,  and  the 
doctrine  was  puLHshed,  and  his  ministers  but 
few,  and  his  disciples  were  to  suffer  persecu- 
tion, and  to  be  of  an  unsettled  dwelling,  and 
the  nation  of  the  Jews,  in  the  bosom  and  so- 
ciety of  which  the  Church  especially  did  dwell, 
were  to  be  scattered  and  broken  all  in  pieces 
with  fierce  calamities,  and  the  world  was  apt  to 
calumniate  and  to  suspect  and  dishonor  Chris- 
tians upon  pretences  and  unreasonable  jeal- 
ousies, and  that  to  all  these  purposes  the  state 
of  marriage  brought  many  inconveniences ;  it 
pleased  God  in  this  new  creation  to  inspire  into 
the  hearts  of  his  servants  a  disposition  and 
strong  desire  to  lead  a  single  life,  lest  the  state 
of  marriage  should  in  that  conjunction  of  things 
become  an  accidental  impediment  to  the  dis- 
semination of  the  gospel,  which  called  men 
from  a  confinement  in  their  domestic  charo;es 
to  travel,  and  flight,  and  poverty,  and  difii- 
culty,  and  martyrdom.  Upon  this  necessity 
the  Apostles  and  apostolical  men  published 
doctrines,  declaring  the  advantages  of  single 
life,  not  by  any  commandment  of  the  Lord, 
but  by  the  spirit  of  prudence,  for  the  present 
and  then  incumbent  necessities,  and  in  order  to 
the  advantages  which  did  accrue  to  the  public 
ministries  and  private  piety. 

Upon  this  occasion  it  grew  necessary  for  the 
Apostle  to  state  the  question  right,  and  to  do 


110  MARRIAGE. 

honor  to  the  holy  rite  of  marriage,  and  to 
snatch  the  mystery  fi'om  the  hands  of  zeal 
and  folly,  and  to  place  it  in  Christ's  right  hand, 
that  all  its  beauties  might  appear,  and  a  pres- 
ent convenience  might  not  bring  in  a  false 
doctrine,  and  a  perpetual  sin,  and  an  intoler- 
able mischief. 

Marriage  is  a  school  and  exercise  of  virtue  ; 
and  though  marriage  hath  cares,  yet  the  single 
life  hath  desires,  which  are  more  troublesome 
and  more  dangerous,  and  often  end  in  sin, 
while  the  cares  are  but  instances  of  duty  and 
exercises  of  piety ;  and  therefore,  if  single  life 
hath  more  privacy  of  devotion,  yet  marriage 
hath  more  necessities  and  more  variety  of  it, 
and  is  an  exercise  of  more  graces.  Here  is  the 
proper  scene  of  piety  and  patience,  of  the  duty 
of  parents  and  the  charity  of  relatives  ;  here 
kindness  is  spread  abroad,  and  love  is  united 
and  made  firm  as  a  centre.  Marriage  is  the 
nursery  of  heaven  ;  the  virgin  sends  prayers 
to  God,  but  she  carries  but  one  soul  to  him  ; 
but  the  state  of  marriage  fills  up  the  numbers 
of  the  elect,  and  hath  in  it  the  labor  of  love 
and  the  delicacies  of  friendship,  the  blessing  of 
society  and  the  union  of  hands  and  hearts ;  it 
hath  in  it  less  of  beauty,  but  more  of  safety, 
than  the  single  life ;  it  hath  more  care,  but  less 
danger ;  it  is  more  merry,  and  more  sad  ;  is 
fuller  of  sorrows,  and  fuller  of  joys;    it  lies 


MARRIAGE.  Ill 

under  more  burdens,  but  is  supported  by  all 
the  strengths  of  love  and  charity,  and  those 
burdens  are  delightful. 

Marriage  is  the  mother  of  the  world,  and  pre- 
serves kingdoms,  and  fills  cities  and  churches, 
and  heaven  itself.  Celibate,  like  the  fly  in  the 
heart  of  an  apple,  dwells  in  a  perpetual  sweet- 
ness, but  sits  alone,  and  is  confined  and  dies  in 
singularity  ;  but  marriage,  like  the  useful  bee, 
builds  a  house,  and  gathers  sweetness  from 
every  flower,  and  labors  and  unites  into  socie- 
ties and  republics,  and  sends  out  colonies,  and 
feeds  the  world  with  delicacies,  and  obeys  their 
king,  and  keeps  order,  and  exercises  many  vir- 
tues, and  promotes  the  interest  of  mankind, 
and  is  that  state  of  good  things  to  which  God 
hath  designed  the  present  constitution  of  the 
world. 

They  that  enter  into  the  state  of  marriage, 
cast  a  die  of  the  greatest  contingency,  and  yet 
of  the  greatest  interest  in  the  world,  next  to 
the  last  throw  for  eternity.  Life  or  death, 
felicity  or  a  lasting  sorrow,  are  in  the  power 
of  marriage.  A  woman  indeed  ventures  most, 
for  she  hath  no  sanctuary  to  retire  to  from  an 
evil  husband;  she  must  dwell  upon  her  sorrow, 
and  hatch  the  eggs  which  her  own  folly  or  in- 
felicity hath  produced  ;  and  she  is  more  under 
it,  because  her  tormentor  hath  a  warrant  of 
prerogative ;  and  the  woman  may  complain  to 


112  MARRIAGE. 

God  as  subjects  do  of  tyrant  princes,  but  other- 
wise she  hath  no  appeal  in  the  causes  of  un- 
kindness.  And  though  tlie  man  can  run  from 
many  hours  of  his  sadness,  yet  he  must  return 
to  it  again  ;  and  when  he  sits  among  his  neigh- 
bors, he  remembers  the  objection  that  hes  in 
his  bosom,  and  he  sighs  deeply.  The  boys, 
and  the  pedlers,  and  the  fruiterers,  shall  tell  of 
this  man,  when  he  is  carried  to  his  grave,  that 
he  lived  and  died  a  poor  wretched  person. 

The  stags  in  the  Greek  epigram,  whose 
knees  were  clogged  with  frozen  snow  upon 
the  mountains,  came  down  to  the  brooks  of 
the  valleys,  hoping  to  thaw  their  joints  with 
the  waters  of  the  stream ;  but  there  the  frost 
overtook  them,  and  bound  them  fast  in  ice 
till  the  young  herdsman  took  them  in  their 
stranger  snare.  It  is  the  unhappy  chance  of 
many  men,  finding  many  inconveniences  upon 
the  mountains  of  single  life,  they  descend  into 
the  valleys  of  marriage  to  refresh  their  troub- 
les, and  there  they  enter  into  fetters,  and  are 
bound  to  sorrow  by  the  cords  of  a  man's  or 
woman's  peevishness.  And  the  worst  of  the 
evil  is,  they  are  to  thank  their  own  follies  ;  for 
they  fell  into  the  snare  by  entering  an  im- 
proper way.  Christ  and  the  Church  were  no 
ingredients  in  their  choice.  But  as  the  Indian 
women  enter  into  folly  for  the  price  of  an  ele- 
phant,  and  think  their  crime  warrantable,  so 


MARRIAGE.  113 

do  men  and  women  change  their  hberty  for  a 
rich  fortune,  (Hke  Eriphyle  the  Argive,  she 
preferred  gold  before  a  good  man,)  and  show 
themselves  to  be  less  than  money,  by  overvalu- 
ing that  to  all  the  content  and  wise  felicity  of 
their  lives :  and  when  they  have  counted  the 
money  and  their  sorrows  together,  how  will- 
ingly would  they  buy,  with  the  loss  of  all  that 
money,  modesty,  or  sweet  nature,  to  their  rela- 
tive !  The  odd  thousand  pounds  would  gladly 
be  allowed  in  good-nature  and  fair  manners. 

As  very  a  fool  is  he  that  chooses  for  beauty 
principally ;  "  cui  sunt  eruditi  oculi,  et  stulta 
mens  "  (as  one  said),  whose  eyes  are  witty,  and 
their  souls  sensual.  It  is  an  ill  band  of  affections 
to  tie  two  hearts  together  by  a  little  thread  of 
red  and  white.  And  they  can  love  no  longer  but 
until  the  next  ague  comes  ;  and  they  are  fond 
of  each  other,  but,  at  the  chance  of  fancy,  or 
the  small-pox,  or  childbearing,  or  care,  or  time, 
or  anything  that  can  destroy  a  pretty  flower. 

Man  and  wife  are  equally  concerned  to  avoid 
all  offences  of  each  other  in  the  beginning  of 
their  conversation.  Every  little  thing  can 
blast  an  infant  blossom ;  and  the  breath  of 
the  south  can  shake  the  little  rings  of  the  vine, 
when  first  they  begin  to  curl  like  the  locks  of 
a  new-weaned  boy ;  but  when  by  age  and  con- 
solidation they  stiffen  into  the  hardness  of  a 
stem,  and  have  by  the  warm  embraces  of  the 


114  MARRIAGE. 

sun,  and  the  kisses  of  heaven,  brought  forth 
their  clusters,  they  can  endure  the  storms  of 
the  north,  and  the  loud  noises  of  a  tempest, 
and  yet  never  be  broken.  So  are  the  early 
unions  of  an  unfixed  marriage ;  watchful  and 
observant,  jealous  and  busy,  inquisitive  and 
careful,  and  apt  to  take  alarm  at  every  unkind 
word.  For  infirmities  do  not  manifest  them- 
selves in  the  first  scenes,  but  in  the  succession 
of  a  long  society ;  and  it  is  not  chance  or  weak- 
ness when  it  appears  at  first,  but  it  is  want  of 
love  or  prudence,  or  it  will  be  so  expounded ; 
and  that  which  appears  ill  at  first,  usually  af- 
frights the  inexperienced  man  or  woman,  who 
makes  unequal  conjectures,  and  fancies  mighty 
sorrows  by  the  proportions  of  the  new  and 
early  unkindness.  It  is  a  very  great  passion, 
or  a  huge  folly,  or  a  certain  want  of  love,  that 
cannot  preserve  the  colors  and  beauties  of 
kindness  so  long  as  public  honesty  requires  a 
man  to  wear  their  sorrows  for  the  death  of  a 
friend. 

Plutarch  compares  a  new  marriage  to  a  ves- 
sel before  the  hoops  are  on  ;  everything  dis- 
solves their  tender  compaginations :  but  when 
the  joints  are  stiffened  and  are  tied  by  a  firm 
compliance  and  proportioned  bending,  scarcely 
can  it  be  dissolved  without  fire  or  the  violence 
of  iron.  After  the  hearts  of  the  man  and  the 
wife  are  endeared  and  hardened  by  a  mutual 


MARRIAGE.  115 

confidence,  and  experience  longer  than  artifice 
and  pretence  can  last,  there  are  a  great  many 
remembrances,  and  some  things  present,  that 
dash  all  httle  unkindnesses  in  pieces.  The 
httle  boy  m  the  Greek  epigram,  that  was 
creeping  down  a  precipice,  was  invited  to  his 
safety  by  the  sight  of  his  mother's  pap,  when 
nothing  else  could  entice  him  to  return :  and 
the  bond  of  common  children,  and  the  sight 
of  her  that  niu'ses  what  is  most  dear  to  him, 
and  the  endearments  of  each  other  in  the 
course  of  a  long  society,  and  the  same  rela- 
tion, is  an  excellent  security  to  redintegrate 
and  to  call  that  love  back,  which  folly  and 
triflino;  accidents  would  disturb.  When  it  is 
come  thus  far,  it  is  hard  unt■\^^sting  the 
knot ;  but  be  cai'eful  in  its  first  coalition 
that  there  be  no  rudeness  done  ;  for  if  there 
be,  it  will  forever  after  be  apt  to  start  and 
to  be  diseased. 

Let  man  and  wife  be  careful  to  stifle  little 
things,  that  as  fast  as  they  spring  they  be  cut 
down  and  trod  upon  ;  for  if  they  be  suffered 
to  groAv  by  numbers,  they  make  the  spirit 
peevish,  and  the  society  troublesome,  and  the 
affections  loose  and  easy  by  an  habitual  aver- 
sation.  Some  men  are  more  vexed  with  a 
fly  than  with  a  wound ;  and  when  the  gnats 
disturb  our  sleep,  and  the  reason  is  disquieted, 
but   not   perfectly  awakened,  it   is    often  seen 


116  MARRIAGE. 

that  he  is  fuller  of  trouble  than  if,  in  the 
daylight  of  his  reason,  he  were  to  contest 
with  a  potent  enemy.  In  the  frequent  little 
accidents  of  a  family,  a  man's  reason  cannot 
always  he  awake ;  and  when  his  discourses 
are  imperfect,  and  a  trifling  trouble  makes 
him  yet  more  restless,  he  is  soon  betrayed  to 
the  violence  of  passion.  It  is  certain  that 
the  man  or  woman  are  in  a  state  of  weak- 
ness and  folly  then,  when  they  can  be  troub- 
led with  a  trifling  accident  ;  and  therefore 
it  is  not  good  to  tempt  their  affections  when 
they  are  in  that  state  of  danger.  In  this 
case  the  caution  is,  to  subtract  fuel  from  the 
sudden  flame  ;  for  stubble,  though  it  be  quickly 
kindled,  yet  it  is  as  soon  exting-uished,  if  it  be 
not  blown  by  a  pertinacious  breath,  or  fed  with 
new  materials.  Add  no  new  provocations  to 
the  accident,  and  do  not  inflame  this,  and  peace 
will  soon  return,  and  the  discontent  will  pass 
away  soon,  as  the  sparks  from  the  collision  of 
a  fhnt ;  ever  remembering,  that  discontents 
proceeding  from  daily  little  things  do  breed 
a  secret  imdiscemible  disease,  which  is  more 
dangerous  than  a  fever  proceeding  from  a  dis- 
cerned notorious  surfeit. 

Let  them  be  sure  to  abstain  from  all  those 
things  which  by  experience  and  observation 
they  find  to  be  contrary  to  each  other.  They 
that  govern    elephants,    never   appear   before 


MARRIAGE.  117 

them  in  white ;  and  the  masters  of  bulls  keep 
from  them  all  garments  of  blood  and  scarlet,  as 
knowing  that  they  will  be  impatient  of  civil 
usages  and  discipline  when  their  natm-es  are 
provoked  by  their  proper  antipathies.  The 
ancients  in  their  marital  hieroglyphics  used  to 
depict  Mercury  standing  by  Venus,  to  signify 
that  by  fair  language  and  sweet  entreaties  the 
minds  of  each  other  should  be  united ;  and 
hard  by  them,  "  suadam  et  gratias  descripse- 
runt,^^  they  would  have  all  dehciousness  of 
manners,  compliance  and  mutual  observance 
to  abide. 

Let  the  husband  and  vsdfe  infinitely  avoid 
a  cmnous  distmction  of  mine  and  thine  ;  for 
this  hath  caused  all  the  laws,  and  all  the 
suits,  and  all  the  wars  in  the  world.  Let 
them  who  have  bvit  one  person  have  also 
but  one  interest.  Corvuius  dwells  in  a  farm 
and  receives  all  its  profits,  and  reaps  and 
sows  as  he  pleases,  and  eats  of  the  com  and 
drinks  of  the  wine  ;  it  is  his  own  :  but  all  that 
also  is  his  lord's,  and  for  it  Corvinus  pays 
acknowledgment ;  and  his  patron  hath  such 
powers  and  uses  of  it  as  are  proper  to  the 
lords  ;  and  yet  for  all  this,  it  may  be  the  king's 
too,  to  all  the  purposes  that  he  can  need,  and 
is  all  to  be  accounted  in  the  census,  and  for 
certain  services  and  times  of  danger.  So  are 
the  riches  of  a  family ;  they  are  a  woman's  as 


118  MARRIAGE. 

well  as  a  man's  ;  they  are  hers  for  need,  and 
hers  for  ornament,  and  hers  for  modest  de- 
light, and  for  the  uses  of  religion  and  prudent 
charity :  but  the  disposing  them  into  portions 
of  inheritance,  the  assignation  of  charges  and 
governments,  stipends  and  rewards,  annuities 
and  greater  donatives,  are  the  reserves  of  the 
superior  right,  and  not  to  be  invaded  by  the 
under-possessors. 

As  the  earth,  the  mother  of  all  creatures 
here  below,  sends  up  all  its  vapors  and  proper 
emissions  at  the  command  of  the  sun,  and  yet 
requires  them  again  to  refresh  her  own  needs, 
and  they  are  deposited  between  them  both,  in 
the  bosom  of  a  cloud,  as  a  common  receptacle, 
that  they  may  cool  his  flames,  and  yet  descend 
to  make  her  fruitful :  so  are  the  proprieties 
of  a  wife  to  be  disposed  of  by  her  lord ;  and 
yet  all  are  for  her  provision,  it  being  a  part  of 
his  need  to  refresh  and  supply  hers,  and  it 
serves  the  interest  of  both  while  it  serves  the 
necessities  of  either. 

These  are  the  duties  of  them  both,  which 
have  common  regards  and  equal  necessities  and 
obligations ;  and  indeed  there  is  scarce  any 
matter  of  duty,  but  it  concerns  them  both  alike, 
and  is  only  distinguished  by  names,  and  hath 
its  variety  by  circumstances  and  little  acci- 
dents :  and  what  in  one  is  called  love,  in  the 
other  is  called  reverence  ;  and  what  in  the  wife 


MARRIAGE.  119 

is  obedience,  the  same  in  the  man  is  duty.  He 
provides,  and  she  dispenses ;  he  gives  com- 
mandments, and  she  rules  by  them  ;  he  rules 
her  by  authority,  and  she  rules  him  by  love  ; 
she  ought  by  all  means  to  please  him,  and  he 
must  by  no  means  displease  her.  For  as  the 
heart  is  set  in  the  midst  of  the  body,  and 
though  it  strikes  to  one  side  by  the  preroga- 
tive of  nature,  yet  those  throbs  and  constant 
motions  are  felt  on  the  other  side  also,  and  the 
influence  is  equal  to  both :  so  it  is  in  conjugal 
duties  ;  some  motions  are  to  the  one  side  more 
than  to  the  other,  but  the  interest  is  on  both, 
and  the  duty  is  equal  in  the  several  instances. 

The  next  inquiry  is  more  particular,  and 
considers  the  power  and  duty  of  the  man. 
"  Let  every  one  of  you  so  love  his  wife,  even 
as  himself"  ;  she  is  as  himself,  the  man  hath 
power  over  her  as  over  himself,  and  must  love 
her  equally.  A  husband's  power  over  his  wife 
is  paternal  and  friendly,  not  magisterial  and  des- 
''potic.  The  wife  is  '■'■  in  perpetud  tuteld,''^  under 
conduct  and  counsel  ;  for  the  power  a  man 
hath  is  founded  in  the  understanding,  not  in 
the  will  or  force  ;  it  is  not  a  power  of  coercion, 
but  a  power  of  advice,  and  that  government 
that  wise  men  have  over  those  who  are  fit  to 
be  conducted  by  them.  Thou  art  to  be  a 
father  and  a  mother  to  her,  and  a  brother: 
and  great  reason,  unless  the  state  of  marriage 


120  MARRIAGE. 

should  be  no  better  than  the  condition  of  an 
orphan.  For  she  that  is  bound  to  leave  father 
and  mother  and  brother  for  thee,  either  is  mis- 
erable, like  a  poor  fatherless  child,  or  else 
ought  to  find  all  these,  and  more,  in  thee. 

The  dominion  of  a  man  over  his  wife  is  no 
other  than  as  the  soul  rules  the  body ;  for 
which  it  takes  a  mighty  care,  and  uses  it  with 
a  delicate  tenderness,  and  cares  for  it  in  all 
contingencies,  and  watches  to  keep  it  from  all 
evils,  and  studies  to  make  for  it  fan'  provisions, 
and  very  often  is  led  by  its  inclinations  and 
desires,  and  does  never  contradict  its  appetites 
but  when  they  are  evil,  and  then  also  not  with- 
out some  trouble  and  sorrow ;  and  its  govern- 
ment  comes  only  to  this  :  it  furnishes  the  body 
with  light  and  understanding,  and  the  body 
furnishes  the  soul  with  hands  and  feet ;  the 
soul  governs  because  the  body  cannot  else  be 
happy,  but  the  government  is  no  other  than 
provision  ;  as  a  nurse  governs  a  child  when 
she  causes  him  to  eat,  and  to  be  warm,  and  •• 
dry,  and  quiet.  And  yet  even  the  very  gov- 
ernment itself  is  divided  ;  for  man  and  wife  in 
the  family  are  as  the  sun  and  moon  in  the 
firmament  of  heaven ;  he  rules  by  day,  and  she 
by  night,  that  is,  in  the  lesser  and  more  proper 
circles  of  her  affaii's,  in  the  conduct  of  domes- 
tic provisions  and  necessary  offices,  and  shines 
only  by  his  light,  and  rules  by  his  authority. 


MARRIAGE.  121 

And  as  the  moon  in  opposition  to  the  sun 
shines  brightest,  that  is,  then  when  she  is  in 
her  own  circles  and  separate  regions,  so  is  the 
authority  of  the  wife  then  most  conspicuous 
when  she  is  separate  and  in  her  proper  sphere  ; 
"zn  gi/nceeeo"  in  the  nursery  and  offices  of  do- 
mestic employment.  But  when  she  is  in  con- 
junction with  the  sun  her  brother,  that  is,  in 
that  place  and  employment  in  which  his  care 
and  proper  offices  are  employed,  her  light  is 
not  seen,  her  authority  hath  no  proper  busi- 
ness. But  else  there  is  no  difference ;  for  they 
were  barbarous  people  among  whom  wives 
were  instead  of  servants  ;  and  it  is  a  sign  of 
impotency  and  weakness  to  force  the  camels 
to  kneel  for  their  load,  because  thou  hast  not 
spirit  and  strength  enough  to  climb :  to  make 
the  affections  and  evenness  of  a  wife  bend  by 
the  flexures  of  a  servant,  is  a  sign  the  man 
is  not  wise  enough  to  govern  when  another 
stands  by.  And  as  amongst  men  and  women 
humility  is  the  way  to  be  preferred,  so  it  is 
in  husbands ;  they  shall  prevail  by  cession,  by 
sweetness  and  counsel,  and  charity  and  com- 
pliance. So  that  we  cannot  discourse  of  the 
man's  right  without  describing  the  measures 
of  his  duty ;  that,  therefore,  follows  next. 

"  Let  him  love  his  wife  even  as  himself"  :  — 
that  is  his  duty,  and  the  measure  of  it  too  ; 
which  is  so  plain,  that,  if  he  understands  how 


122  MARRIAGE. 

he  treats  liimself,  there  needs  nothing  be  added 
concermng;  his  demeanor  towards  her,  save 
only  that  we  add  the  particulars  in  which 
holy  Scripture  instances  this  general  com- 
mandment. 

The  first  is,  "  Be  not  bitter  against  her "  ; 
and  this  is  the  least  index  and  signification  of 
love  ;  a  civil  man  is  never  bitter  against  a 
friend  or  a  stranger,  much  less  to  him  that 
enters  under  his  roof,  and  is  secured  by  the 
laws  of  hospitality.  But  a  wife  does  all  that 
and  more  :  she  quits  all  her  interest  for  his 
love  ;  she  gives  him  all  that  she  can  give  ;  she 
is  much  the  same  person  as  another  can  be  the 
same,  who  is  conjoined  by  love  and  mystery 
and  religion,  and  all  that  is  sacred  and  profane. 
They  have  the  same  fortune,  the  same  family, 
the  same  children,  the  same  religion,  the  same 
interest,  the  same  flesh ;  and  therefore  the 
Apostle  urges,  "  No  man  hateth  his  own  flesh, 
but  nourisheth  and  cherisheth  it "  ;  and  he  cer- 
tainly is  strangely  sacrilegious  and  a  violator 
of  the  rights  of  hospitality  and  sanctuary,  who 
uses  her  rudely,  who  is  fled  for  protection  not 
only  to  his  house,  but  also  to  his  heart  and 
bosom. 

There  is  nothing  can  please  a  man  without 
love ;  and  if  a  man  be  weary  of  the  wise  dis- 
courses of  the  Apostles,  and  of  the  innocency 
of  an  even  and  a  private  fortune,  or  hates  peace 


MARRIAGE.  '  123 

or  a  fimltfiil  year,  lie  hath  reaped  thorns  and 
thistles  from  the  choicest  flowers  of  paradise ; 
for  nothing  can  sweeten  fehcity  itself,  bait  love. 
But  when  a  man  dwells  in  love,  then  the  breasts 
of  his  wife  are  pleasant  as  the  di'oppings  upon 
the  hill  of  Hermon,  her  eyes  are  fair  as  the 
light  of  heaven,  she  is  a  foimtain  sealed,  and  he 
can  quench  his  thirst,  and  ease  liis  cares,  and  lay 
his  sorrow  down  upon  her  lap,  and  can  retire 
home  as  to  his  sanctuary  and  refectory,  and  his 
gardens  of  sweetness  and  chaste  reli'eshments. 

No  man  can  tell  but  he  that  loves  his  chil- 
dren, how  many  delicious  accents  make  a  man's 
heart  dance  in  the  pretty  conversation  of  those 
dear  pledges ;  their  childislmess,  then*  stam- 
mering, their  little  angers,  their  innocence, 
their  imperfections,  their  necessities,  are  so 
many  little  emanations  of  joy  and  comfort  to 
him  that  dehghts  in  theu'  persons  and  society. 
But  he  that  loves  not  his  wife  and  children 
feeds  a  honess  at  home,  and  broods  a  nest  of 
sorrows  ;  and  blessing  itself  cannot  make  liim 
happy :  so  that  all  the  commandments  of  God 
enjoining  a  man  to  love  his  wife  are  nothing 
but  so  many  necessities  and  capacities  of  joy. 
She  that  is  loved  is  safe,  and  he  that  loves  is 
joyftd. 

The  husband  should  nourish  and  cherish  her ; 
he  should  refresh  her  sorrows  and  entice  her 
fears  into  confidence  and  pretty  arts  of  rest. 


124  MARRIAGE. 

But  it  Avill  concern  the  prudence  of  the  hus- 
band's love  to  make  the  cares  and  evils  as 
simple  and  easy  as  he  can,  by  doubling  the  joys 
and  acts  of  a  careful  friendship,  by  tolerating 
her  infirmities,  (because  by  so  doing  he  either 
cures  her,  or  makes  himself  better,)  by  fairly 
expounding  all  the  little  traverses  of  society 
and  communication,  by  taking  everything  by 
the  right  handle,  as  Plutarch's  expression  is; 
for  there  is  nothing  but  may  be  misinterpreted ; 
and  yet  if  it  be  capable  of  a  fair  construction, 
it  is  the  office  of  love  to  make  it.  Love  will 
account  that  to  be  well  said  which,  it  may  be, 
was  not  so  intended  ;  and  then  it  may  cause  it 
to  be  so,  another  time. 

Hither  also  is  to  be  referred  that  he  secure 
the  interest  of  her  virtue  and  felicity  by  a  fair 
example ;  for  a  wife  to  a  husband  is  a  line  or 
superficies,  —  it  hath  dimensions  of  its  own,  but 
no  motion  or  proper  affections  ;  but  commonly 
puts  on  such  images  of  virtues  or  vices  as  are 
presented  to  her  by  her  husband's  idea :  and  if 
thou  beest  vicious,  complain  not  that  she  is 
infected  that  lies  in  thy  bosom  ;  the  interest  of 
whose  love  ties  her  to  transcribe  thy  copy,  and 
write  after  the  character  of  thy  manners.  Paris 
was  a  man  of  pleasure,  and  Helena  was  an 
adulteress,  and  she  added  covetousness  upon 
her  own  account.  But  Ulysses  was  a  prudent 
man,  and  a  wary  coimsellor,  sober  and  severe ; 


MARRIAGE.  125 

and  he  efformed  liis  wife  into  such  imagery  as 
he  desired ;  and  she  was  chaste  as  the  snows 
upon  the  momitains,  dihgent  as  the  fatal  sisters, 
always  busy,  and  always  faithful ;  she  had  a 
lazy  tongue  and  a  busy  hand. 

Above  all  the  instances  of  love  let  him  pre- 
serve towards  her  an  inviolable  faith,  and  an 
unspotted  chastity ;  for  tliis  is  the  marriage-rmg  ; 
it  ties  two  hearts  by  an  eternal  band ;  it  is  like 
the  cherubim's  flaming  sword,  set  for  the  guard 
of  paradise ;  he  that  passes  into  that  garden, 
now  that  it  is  immured  by  Christ  and  the 
Church,  enters  into  the  shades  of  death.  No 
man  must  touch  the  forbidden  tree,  that  in  the 
midst  of  the  garden,  which  is  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge and  life.  Chastity  is  the  secm'ity  of  love, 
and  preserves  all  the  mysteriousness  like  the 
secrets  of  a  temple.  Under  this  lock  is  deposit- 
ed security  of  families,  the  miion  of  affections, 
the  repairer  of  accidental  breaches.  This  is  a 
grace  that  is  shut  up  and  secured  by  all  arts  of 
heaven  and  the  defence  of  laws,  the  locks  and 
bars  of  modesty,  by  honor  and  reputation,  by 
fear  and  shame,  by  interest  and  high  regards ; 
and  that  contract  that  is  intended  to  be  forever 
is  yet  dissolved  and  broken  by  the  violation  of 
this.  Nothing  but  death  can  do  so  much  evil 
to  the  holy  rites  of  marriage  as  unchastity  and 
breach  of  faith  can ;  and  by  the  laws  of  the  Ro- 
mans a  man  might  kill  his  daughter  or  his  wife, 


126  MARRIAGE. 

if  he  surprised  her  in  the  breach  of  her  holy 
vows,  which  are  as  sacred  as  the  threads  of  hfe, 
secret  as  the  privacies  of  the  sanctuary,  and 
holy  as  the  society  of  angels.  God  that  com- 
manded us  to  forgive  our  enemies  left  it  in  our 
choice,  and  hath  not  commanded  us  to  forgive 
an  adulterous  husband  or  a  wife  ;  but  the  oflFend- 
ed  party's  displeasure  may  pass  into  an  eternal 
separation  of  society  and  friendship.  Now  in 
this  grace  it  is  fit  that  the  wisdom  and  severity 
of  the  man  should  hold  forth  a  pure  taper,  that 
his  wife  may,  by  seeing  the  beauties  and  trans- 
parency of  that  crystal,  dress  her  mind  and  her 
body  by  the  light  of  so  pure  reflections.  It  is 
certain  he  will  expect  it  fi'om  the  modesty  and 
retirement,  from  the  passive  nature  and  colder 
temper,  from  the  humility  and  fear,  from  the 
honor  and  love,  of  his  wife,  that  she  be  pure 
as  the  eye  of  heaven  :  and  therefore  it  is  but 
reason  that  the  wisdom  and  nobleness,  the  love 
and  confidence,  the  strength  and  severity  of  the 
man  should  be  as  holy  and  certain  in  this  grace 
as  he  is  a  severe  exactor  of  it  at  her  hands, 
who  can  more  easily  be  tempted  by  another, 
and  less  by  herself. 

These  are  the  little  lines  of  a  man's  duty, 
which,  like  threads  of  light  from  the  body  of 
the  sun,  do  clearly  describe  all  the  regions  of 
his  proper  obligations.  Now,  concerning  the 
woman's   duty,  although  it  consists  in  doing 


MARRIAGE.  127 

whatsoever  her  husband  commands,  and  so 
receh'es  measures  from  the  rules  of  his  gov- 
ernment, yet  there  are  also  some  hues  of  life 
depicted  upon  her  hands,  by  which  she  may 
read  and  know  how  to  proportion  out  her  duty 
to  her  husband. 

The  first  is  obedience.  The  man's  author- 
ity is  love,  and  the  woman's  love  is  obedience  ; 
for  this  obedience  is  no  way  founded  in  fear, 
but  in  love  and  reverence.  We  will  add,  that 
it  is  an  effect  of  that  modesty  which,  like  ru- 
bies, adorns  the  necks  and  cheeks  of  women. 
It  is  modesty  to  advance  and  highly  to  honor 
them  who  have  honored  us  by  making  us  to 
be  the  companions  of  their  dearest  excellen- 
cies ;  for  the  woman  that  went  before  the  man 
in  the  way  of  death,  is  commanded  to  follow 
him  in  the  way  of  love  ;  and  that  makes  the 
society  to  be  perfect,  and  the  union  profitable, 
and  the  harmony  complete.  A  wife  never  can 
become  equal  but  by  obeying.  A  ruling  wom- 
an is  intolerable.  But  that  is  not  all ;  for  she 
is  miserable,  too :  for  it  is  a  sad  calamity  for  a 
woman  to  be  joined  to  a  fool  or  a  weak  person ; 
it  is  like  a  giuird  of  geese  to  keep  the  capitol ; 
or  as  if  a  flock  of  sheep  should  read  grave  lec- 
tures to  their  shepherd,  and  give  him  orders 
when  he  shall  conduct  them  to  pasture.  To 
be  ruled  by  weaker  people,  to  have  a  fool  to 
one's  master,  is  the  fate  of  miserable  and  un- 


128  MARRIAGE. 

blessed  people :  and  the  wife  can  be  no  ways 
happy  unless  she  be  governed  by  a  prudent 
lord,  whose  commands  are  sober  covmsels, 
whose  authority  is  paternal,  whose  orders  are 
provisions,  and  whose  sentences  are  charity. 

The  next  line  of  the  woman's  duty  is  com- 
pliance,   which    St.   Peter   calls    "  the    hidden 
man  of  the   heart,   the   ornament  of  a  meek 
and  a  quiet  spirit  "  ;  and  to  it  he  opposes  "  the 
outward  and  pompous  ornament  of  the  body  "  ; 
concerning  Avhich,  as  there  can  be  no  partic- 
ular measure  set  down  to  all  persons,  but  the 
proportions  were  to  be  measured  by  the  cus- 
toms of  wise  people,  the  quality  of  the  woman, 
and  the   desires  of  the  man  ;    yet  it  is  to  be 
limited  by  Christian   modesty  and  the  usages 
of  the   more    excellent    and    severe   matrons. 
Menander  in  the  comedy  brings  in  a  man  turn- 
ing his  wife  from  his  house  because  she  stained 
her  hair  yellow,  which  was  then  the  beauty. 
A  wise  woman  should  not  paint.     A  studious 
gallantry  in  clothes  cannot  make  a  wise  man 
love   his  wife   the  better.      Such  gayeties  are 
fit  for  tragedies,  but  not  for  the  uses  of  life. 
"  Decor  occultus,  et  teeta  venustas  "  ;  that  is  the 
Christian  woman's  fineness,  the  hidden  man  of 
the  heart,  sweetness  of  manners,  humble  com- 
portment, fair  interpretation  of  all  addresses, 
ready  compliances,  high  opinion  of  him,  and 
mean  of  herself. 


MARRIAGE.  129 

To  partake  secretly,  and  in  her  heart,  of  all 
his  joys  and  sorrows ;  to  believe  him  comely 
and  fair,  though  the  sun  hath  dra\vn  a  cypress 
over  him  ;  (for  as  marriages  are  not  to  be  con- 
tracted by  the  hands  and  eye,  but  with  reason 
and  the  hearts,  so  are  these  judgments  to  be 
made  by  the  mind,  not  by  the  sight ;)  and  dia- 
monds cannot  make  the  woman  virtuous,  nor 
him  to  value  her  who  sees  her  put  them  off, 
then,  when  charity  and  modesty  are  her  bright- 
est ornaments. 

And  indeed  those  husbands  that  are  pleased 
with  indecent  gayeties  of  their  wives,  are  like 
fishes  taken  with  ointments  and  intoxicating 
baits,  apt  and  easy  for  sport  and  mockery,  but 
useless  for  food  ;  and  Avhen  Circe  had  turned 
Ulysses's  companions  into  hogs  and  monkeys, 
by  pleasures  and  the  enchantments  of  her  brav- 
ery and  luxury,  they  were  no  longer  usefiil 
to  her,  she  knew  not  what  to  do  with  them  ; 
but  on  wise  Ulysses  she  was  continually  en- 
amoured. Indeed  the  outward  ornament  is  fit 
to  take  fools,  but  they  are  not  worth  the  tak- 
ing ;  but  she  that  hath  a  wise  husband  must 
entice  him  to  an  eternal  deamess  by  the  veil 
of  modesty,  and  the  grave  robes  of  chastity, 
the  ornament  of  meekness,  and  the  jewels  of 
faith  and  charity :  she  must  have  no  '-'•fucus  " 
but  blushings ;  her  brightness  must  be  purity, 
and  she  must  shine  round  about  with  sweet- 
9 


130  MARRIAGE. 

nesses  and  friendship,  and  she  shall  be  pleasant 
while  she  lives,  and  desired  when  she  dies.  If 
not,  her  grave  shall  be  full  of  rottenness  and 
dishonor,  and  her  memory  shall  be  worse  after 
she  is  dead  :  "  after  she  is  dead  "  ;  for  that  will 
be  the  end  of  all  merry  meetings  ;  and  I  choose 
this  to  be  the  last  advice  to  both. 

Remember  the  days  of  darkness,  for  they 
are  many ;  the  joys  of  the  bridal  chambers  are 
quickly  past,  and  the  remaining  portion  of  the 
state  is  a  dvill  progress,  without  variety  of  joys, 
but  not  without  the  change  of  sorrows ;  but 
that  portion  that  shall  enter  into  the  grave 
must  be  eternal.  It  is  fit  that  I  should  infuse 
a  bunch  of  myrrh  into  the  festival  goblet,  and 
after  the  Egyptian  manner  serve  up  a  dead 
man's  bones  at  a  feast ;  I  will  only  show  it, 
and  take  it  away  again  ;  it  will  make  the  wine 
bitter,  but  wholesome.  But  those  married 
pairs  that  hve,  as  remembering  that  they 
must  part  again,  and  give  an  account  how 
they  treat  themselves  and  each  other,  shall 
at  that  day  of  their  death  be  admitted  to 
glorious  espousals ;  and  then  they  shall  hve 
again,  be  married  to  their  Lord,  and  partake 
of  his  glories,  with  Abraham  and  Joseph,  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul,  and  all  the  mamed  saints. 

All  those  tilings  that  now  please  us  shall 
pass  from  us,  or  we  from  them ;  but  those 
things   that  concern   the    other   life    are   per- 


THE  ATHEIST.  131 

manent  as  the  numbers  of  eternity :  and  al- 
though at  the  resurrection  there  shall  be  no 
relation  of  husband  and  wife,  and  no  mar- 
riage shall  be  celebrated  but  the  marriao;e 
of  the  Lamb ;  yet  then  shall  be  remembered 
how  men  and  women  passed  through  this 
state,  which  is  a  type  of  that ;  and  from  this 
sacramental  union  all  holy  pairs  shall  pass  to 
the  spiritual  and  eternal,  where  love  shall  be 
their  portion,  and  joys  shall  crown  then*  heads, 
and  they  shall  lie  in  the  bosom  of  Jesus,  and 
in  the  heart  of  God  to  eternal  affes. 


THE  ATHEIST. 

\T7H0  in  the  world  is  a  verier  fool,  a  more 
*  '  ignorant,  wretched  person,  than  he  that 
is  an  atheist  ?  A  man  may  better  believe 
there  is  no  such  man  as  himself,  and  that  he 
is  not  in  being,  than  that  there  is  no  God  ; 
for  himself  can  cease  to  be,  and  once  was  not, 
and  shall  be  changed  from  what  he  is,  and  in 
very  many  periods  of  his  life  knows  not  that 
he  is  ;  and  so  it  is  every  night  with  him  when 
he  sleeps.  But  noiie  of  these  can  happen  to 
God ;  and  if  he  knows  it  not,  he  is  a  fool. 
Can  anything  in  this  world  be  more  foolish 
than  to  think  that  all  this  rare  fabric  of  heaven 


132  THE  ATHEIST. 

and  earth  can  come  by  chance,  when  all  the 
skill  of  art  is  not  able  to  make  an  oyster  ? 
To  see  rare  effects  and  no  cause  ;  an  excel- 
lent govBrnment  and  no  prmce  ;  a  motion  with- 
out an  immovable  ;  a  circle  without  a  centre  ; 
a  time  without  eternity  ;  a  second  without  a 
first ;  a  thing  that  begins  not  from  itself,  and 
therefore  not  to  perceive  there  is  something 
from  whence  it  does  begin,  which  must  be 
without  beginning  ;  these  things  are  so  against 
philosophy  and  natural  reason,  that  he  must 
needs  be  a  beast  in  his  understanding  that  does 
not  assent  to  them.  This  is  the  atheist:  "  The 
fool  hath  said  in  liis  heart  there  is  no  God  "  ; 
that  is  his  character.  The  thing  framed  says 
that  nothing  framed  it ;  the  tongue  never  made 
itself  to  speak,  and  yet  talks  against  him  that 
did ;  saying,  that  which  is  made  is,  and  that 
which  made  it  is  not.  But  this  folly  is  as 
infinite  as  hell,  as  much  without  light  or  bound 
as  the  chaos  or  primitive  nothing.  But  in  this 
the  devil  never  prevailed  very  far  ;  his  schools 
were  always  thin  at  these  lectures.  Some 
few  people  have  been  witty  against  God,  that 
taught  them  to  speak  before  they  knew  how  to 
spell  a  syllable  ;  but  either  they  are  monsters 
in  their  manners,  or  mad  in  their  understand- 
ings, or  ever  find  themselves  confuted  by  a 
thunder  or  a  plague,  by  danger  or  death. 


THE   TONGUE.  133 


THE  TONGUE. 


T)  Y  the  use  of  the  tongue,  God  hath  distin- 
^  guished  us  fi'om  beasts  ;   and  by  the  well 
or  ill  usino;  it  we  are  distinguished  fi-om  one 
another ;  and  therefore  though  silence  be  inno- 
cent as  death,  harmless  as  a  rose's  breath  to  a 
distant  passenger,  yet  it  is  rather  the  state  of 
death  than  life ;  and  therefore  when  the  Egyp- 
tians sacrificed    to  Harpocrates    their  god  of 
silence,  in  the  midst  of  their  rites  they  cried 
out,  "  The  tongue  is  an  angel,"  good  or  bad, 
that  is,  as  it  happens.     Silence  was  to  them  a 
god,  but  the  tongue  is  greater ;  it  is  the  band 
of  human  intercourse,  and  makes  men  apt  to 
unite  in  societies  and  republics  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber what  one  of  the  ancients  said,  that  we  are 
better  in  the  company  of  a  known  dog  than  of 
a  man  whose  speech  is  not  known.    A  stranger 
to  a  stranger  in  his  language  is  not  as  a  man 
to  a  man  ;  for  by  voices  and  homilies,  by  ques- 
tions and  answers,  by  narratives  and  invectives, 
by  counsel  and  reproof,  by  praises  and  hymns, 
by  prayers  and  glorifications,  we  serve  God's 
glory  and  the  necessities  of  men  ;  and  by  the 
tongue  our  tables  are  made  to  differ  from  man- 
gers, our  cities  from  deserts,  our  churches' from 
herds  of  beasts  and  flocks  of  sheep. 

But  the  tongue  is  a  fountain  both  of  bitter 


134  THE   TONGUE. 

waters  and  of  pleasant ;  it  sends  forth  blessing 
and  cursing ;  it  praises  God,  and  rails  at  men  ; 
it  is  sometimes  set  on  fire,  and  then  it  puts 
whole  cities  in  combustion  ;  it  is  unruly,  and  no 
more  to  be  restramed  than  the  breath  of  a  tem- 
pest ;  it  is  volatile  and  fugitive :  reason  should 
go  before  it ;  and,  when  it  does  not,  repentance 
comes  after  it ;  it  was  intended  for  an  organ  of 
the  divine  praises,  but  the  devil  often  plays 
upon  it,  and  then  it  sounds  like  the  screech- 
owl,  or  the  groans  of  death  ;  sorrow  and  shame, 
folly  and  repentance,  are  the  notes  and  formi- 
dable accents  of  that  discord. 

He  that  loves  to  talk  much,  must  scrape 
materials  together  to  furnish  out  the  scenes 
and  long  orations  ;  and  some  talk  themselves 
into  anger,  and  some  furnish  out  their  dialogues 
with  the  lives  of  others  ;  either  they  detract 
or  censure,  or  they  flatter  themselves,  and  tell 
their  own  stories  with  friendly  circumstances ; 
and  pride  creeps  up  the  sides  of  the  discourse, 
and  the  man  entertains  liis  friend  with  his  own 
panegyric  ;  or  the  discourse  looks  one  way  and 
rows  another,  and  more  minds  the  design  than 
its  own  truth ;  and  most  commonly  will  be  so 
ordered  that  it  shall  please  the  company. 


*  IDLE   TALK.  135 


IDLE  TALK. 


T  ET  no  man  think  it  a  light  matter  that  he 
-'-^  spends  his  precious  time  in  idle  words ;  let 
no  man  be  so  weary  of  what  flies  away  too  fast, 
and  cannot  be  recalled,  as  to  use  arts  and  de- 
vices to  pass  the  time  away  m  vanity,  which 
might  be  rarely  spent  in  the  interests  of  eter- 
nity. Time  is  given  us  to  repent  in,  to  appease 
the  divine  anger,  to  prepare  for  and  hasten  to 
the  society  of  angels,  to  stir  up  our  slackened 
wills,  and  enkindle  ou^r  cold  devotions,  to  weep 
for  our  daily  iniquities,  and  to  sigh  after,  and 
work  for,  the  restitution  of  our  lost  inheritance  ; 
and  the  reward  is  very  inconsiderable  that  ex- 
changes all  this  for  the  pleasiu-e  of  a  voluble 
tonsue :  and  mdeed  this  is  an  evil  that  cannot 
be  avoided  by  any  excuse  that  can  be  made  for 
words  that  are  in  any  sense  idle,  though  in  all 
senses  of  their  own  nature  and  proper  relations 
they  be  innocent.  They  are  a  throwing  away 
something  of  that  which  is  to  be  expended  for 
eternity,  and  put  on  degi-ees  of  folly  accordmg 
as  they  are  tedious  and  expensive  of  tune  to  no 
good  purposes. 

Great  knowledge,  if  it  be  without  vanity,  is 
the  most  severe  bridle  of  the  tonorie.  For  so 
have  I  heard  that  all  the  noises  and  prating  of 
the  pool,   the  croaking  of  frogs  and  toads,  is 


136  IDLE   TALK* 


hushed  and  appeased  upon  the  instant  of  bring- 
ing upon  them  the  hght  of  a  candle  or  torch. 
Every  beam  of  reason  and  raj  of  knowledge 
checks  the  dissolutions  of  the  tongue.  But, 
every  man  as  he  is  a  fool  and  contemptible,  so 
his  tongue  is  hanged  loose,  being  like  a  bell, 
in  which  there  is  nothing;  but  tonmie  and  noise. 
No  prudence  is  a  sufficient  g-uard,  or  can 
always  stand  "  in  excubiis,^^  still  watching, 
when  a  man  is  in  perpetual  floods  of  talk  :  for 
prudence  attends  after  the  manner  of  an  angel's 
ministry;  it  is  despatched  on  messages  from 
God,  and  drives  away  enemies,  and  places 
guards,  and  calls  upon  the  man  to  awake,  and 
bids  him  send  out  spies  and  observers,  and  then 
goes  about  his  own  ministries  above :  but  an 
angel  does  not  sit  by  a  man,  as  a  nurse  by  the 
baby's  cradle,  watching  every  motion,  and  the 
lighting  of  a  fly  upon  the  child's  hp.  And  so 
is  prudence  ;  it  gives  rules,  and  proportions  out 
our  measures,  and  prescribes  us  cautions,  and 
by  general  influences  orders  our  particulars  : 
but  he  that  is  given  to  talk  cannot  be  secured 
by  all  this ;  the  emissions  of  his  tongue  are 
beyond  the  general  figures  and  lines  of  rule  ; 
and  he  can  no  more  be  wise  in  every  period  of 
a  long  and  running  talk  than  a  lutanist  can 
deliberate  and  make  every  motion  of  his  hand 
by  the  division  of  his  notes  to  be  chosen  and 
distinctly  voluntary.     And  hence  it  comes,  that 


IDLE   TALK.  137 

at  every  corner  of  the  mouth  a  folly  peeps  out, 
or  a  mischief  creeps  in.  A  little  pride  and  a 
great  deal  of  vanity  will  soon  escape,  while  the 
man  minds  the  sequel  of  his  talk,  and  not  that 
ugliness  of  humor  which  the  severe  man  that 
stood  by  did  observe  and  was  ashamed  of.  Do 
not  many  men  talk  themselves  into  anger, 
screwing  up  themselves  with  dialogues  of  fancy, 
till  they  forget  the  company  and  themselves  ? 
And  some  men  hate  to  be  contradicted  or  inter- 
rupted, or  to  be  discovered  in  their  folly ;  and 
some  men  being  a  little  conscious,  and  not 
striving  to  amend  by  silence,  they  make  it 
worse  by  discourse.  A  long  story  of  them- 
selves, a  tedious  praise  of  another  collaterally, 
to  do  themselves  advantage  ;  a  declamation 
against  a  sin,  to  imdo  the  person  or  oppress  the 
reputation  of  theu'  neighbor  ;  unseasonable  rep- 
etition of  that  which  neither  profits  nor  delights  ; 
trifling  contentions  about  a  goat's  beard  or  the 
blood  of  an  oyster,  anger  and  animosity,  spite 
and  rage,  scorn  and  reproach,  begiui  upon  ques- 
tions which  concern  neither  of  the  litigants  ; 
fierce  disputations ;  strivings  for  what  is  past, 
and  for  what  shall  never  be :  these  are  the 
events  of  the  loose  and  unwary  tongue,  which 
are  like  flies  and  gnats  upon  the  margin  of  a 
pool ;  they  do  not  sting  like  an  asp,  or  bite  deep 
as  a  bear,  yet  they  can  vex  a  man  into  a  fever 
and  impatience,  and  make  him  inca2)uble  of 
rest  and  comisel. 


138  JESTING. 


JESTING. 

"PCCLESIASTICAL  History  reports  that 
-^  many  jests  passed  between  St.  Anthony, 
the  father  of  the  Hermits,  and  his  scholar  St. 
Paul ;  and  St.  Hilarion  is  reported  to  have 
been  very  pleasant,  and  of  facetious,  sweet, 
and  more  lively  conversation  ;  and  indeed  plais- 
ance,  and  joy,  and  a  lively  spirit,  and  a  pleas- 
ant conversation,  and  the  innocent  caresses  of 
a  charitable  humanity,  is  not  forbidden  ;  and 
here  in  my  text  our  conversation  is  commanded 
to  be  such,  that  it  may  minister  grace,  that 
is,  favor,  complacence,  cheerfulness,  and  be 
acceptable  and  pleasant  to  the  hearer  :  and  so 
must  be  our  conversation  ;  it  must  be  as  far 
from  sullenness  as  it  ought  to  be  from  light- 
ness, and  a  cheei-fid  spirit  is  the  best  convoy 
for  religion  ;  and  though  sadness  does  in  some 
cases  become  a  Christian,  as  being  an  index  of 
a  pious  mind,  of  compassion,  and  a  wise,  proper 
resentment  of  things,  yet  it  serves  but  one  end, 
being  useful  in  the  only  instance  of  repent- 
ance ;  and  hath  done  its  greatest  works,  not 
when  it  weeps  and  sighs,  but  when  it  hates  and 
grows  careful  against  sin.  But  cheerfulness 
and  a  festival  spirit  fills  the  soul  full  of  har- 
mony, it  composes  music  for  churches  and 
hearts,  it  makes  and  publishes  glorifications  of 


JESTING.  139 

God,  it  produces  thankfulness  and  serves  the 
end  of  charity;  and  when  the  oil  of  gladness 
runs  over,  it  makes  bright  and  tall  emissions  of 
light  and  holy  fires,  reaching  up  to  a  cloud, 
and  making  joy  round  about.  And  therefore, 
since  it  is  so  innocent,  and  may  be  so  pious 
and  full  of  holy  advantage,  whatsoever  can 
innocently  minister  to  this  holy  joy  does  set 
forward  the  work  of  religion  and  charity.  And 
indeed  charity  itself,  which  is  the  vertical  top 
of  all  religion,  is  nothing  else  but  a  union  of 
joys,  concentred  in  the  heart,  and  reflected 
from  all  the  angles  of  our  life  and  intercourse. 
It  is  a  rejoicing  in  God,  a  gladness  in  our 
neighbor's  good,  a  pleasure  in  doing  good,  a 
rejoicing  with  him ;  and  without  love  we  can- 
not have  any  joy  at  all.  It  is  this  that  makes 
childi-en  to  be  a  pleasure,  and  friendship  to  be 
so  noble  and  divine  a  thing  ;  and  upon  this 
account  it  is  certain  that  all  that  which  can 
innocently  make  a  man  cheerful  does  also 
make  him  charitable  ;  for  grief,  and  age,  and 
sickness,  and  weariness,  these  are  peevish  and 
troublesome  ;  but  mirth  and  cheerfulness  is 
content,  and  civil,  and  compliant,  and  com- 
municative, and  loves  to  do  good,  and  swells 
up  to  felicity  only  upon  the  wings  of  charity. 
Upon  this  account  here  is  pleasure  enough  for 
a  Christian  at  present ;  and  if  a  facetious  dis- 
course,  and  an  amicable  friendly  mirth,   can 


140  COMMON  SWEARING. 

refresh  the  spirit,  and  take  it  off  from  the  vile 
temptation  of  peevish,  despairing,  uncomplying 
melancholy,  it  must  needs  be  innocent  and 
commendable.  And  we  may  as  well  be  re- 
freshed by  a  clean  and  a  brisk  discourse  as  by 
the  air  of  Campanian  wines  ;  and  our  faces  and 
our  heads  may  as  well  be  anointed  and  look 
pleasant  with  wit  and  friendly  intercourse  as 
with  the  fat  of  the  balsam-tree  ;  and  such  a 
conversation  no  wise  man  ever  did  or  ouo-ht  to 
reprove.  But  when  the  jest  hath  teeth  and 
nails,  biting  or  scratching  our  brother,  when 
it  is  loose  and  wanton,  when  it  is  unseasonable, 
and  much,  or  many,  when  it  serves  ill  pur- 
poses, or  spends  better  time,  then  it  is  the 
drunkenness  of  the  soul,  and  makes  the  spirit 
fly  away,  seeking  for  a  temple  where  the  mirth 
and  the  music  is  solemn  and  religious. 


COMMON  SWEAEING. 

A  GAINST  common  swearing,  St.  Chrysos- 
■^-^  torn  spends  twenty  homilies :  and  by  the 
number  and  weight  of  arguments  hath  left  this 
testimony,  that  it  is  a  foolish  vice,  but  hard  to 
be  cured ;  infinitely  unreasonable,  but  strangely 
prevailing  ;  almost  as  much  without  remedy  as 
it  is   without  pleasure  ;   for  it  enters  first  by 


COMMON  SWEARING.  141 

folly,  and  grows  by  custom,  and  dwells  with 
carelessness,  and   is  nursed   by  irreligion  and 
want  of  the  fear  of  God.     It  profanes  the  most 
holy  things,  and  mingles  dirt  with  the  beams  of 
the  sun,  follies  and   trifling   talk   interweaved 
and  knit  together  with  the  sacred  name  of  God. 
It  placeth  the  most  excellent  of  things  in  the 
meanest  and  basest  cii'cumstances  ;    it  brings 
the  secrets  of  heaven   into  the   streets,   dead 
men's  bones   into   the   temple.      Nothing  is  a 
greater  sacrilege  than  to  prostitute  the  great 
name    of  God   to    the    petulancy    of   an    idle 
tongue,  and  blend  it  as  an  expletive  to  fill  up 
the  emptiness  of  a  weak  discourse.     The  name 
of  God  is  so  sacred,  so  mi^htv,  that  it  rends 
mountains ;  it  opens  the  bowels  of  the  deepest 
rocks,  it  casts  out  devils,  and  makes  hell  to 
tremble,   and    fills   all    the   regions   of  heaven 
with  joy.     The  name  of  God  is  our  strength 
and  confidence,  the  object  of  our  worshippings, 
and  the  security  of  all  our  hopes ;  and  when 
God  had  given  himself  a  name,  and  immured 
it  with  dread  and  reverence,  like  the  garden 
of  Eden  with  the  swords  of  cherubims,  none 
durst  speak  it  but  he  whose  lips  were  hallowed, 
and  that  at  holy  and  solemn  times,  in  a  most 
holy  and  solemn  place. 


142  FLATTERY. 


FLATTERY. 


npmS  is  the  mischief  that  is  done  by  flattery  ; 
-^  it  is  a  design  against  the  wisdom,  against 
the  repentance,  against  the  growth  and  promo- 
tion of  a  man's  souL  He  that  persuades  an 
ugly,  deformed  man,  that  he  is  handsome,  a 
short  man  that  he  is  tall,  a  bald  man  that  he 
hath  a  good  head  of  hair,  makes  him  to  become 
ridiculous  and  a  fool,  but  does  no  other  mischief. 
But  he  that  persuades  his  friend  that  is  a  goat 
in  his  manners,  that  he  is  a  holy  and  a  chaste 
person,  or  that  his  looseness  is  a  sign  of  a  quick 
spirit,  or  that  it  is  not  dangerous  but  easily  par- 
donable, a  trick  of  youth,  a  habit  that  old  age 
will  lay  aside,  as  a  man  pares  his  nails,  this 
man  hath  given  great  advantage  to  his  friend's 
mischief;  he  hath  made  it  grow  in  all  the 
dimensions  of  the  sin,  till  it  grows  intolerable, 
and  pei-haps  unpardonable.  And  let  it  be  con- 
sidered, what  a  fearful  destruction  and  contra- 
diction of  friendship  or  service  it  is,  so  to  love 
myself  and  my  little  interest,  as  to  pi-efer  it 
before  the  soul  of  him  whom  I  ought  to  love. 
Carneades  said  bitterly,  but  it  had  in  it  too 
many  degrees  of  truth,  that  princes  and  great 
personages  never  learn  to  do  anything  per- 
fectly well  but  to  ride  the  great  horse,  because 
the  proud  beast  knows  not  how  to  flatter,  but 


CONSOLATION.  143 

will  as  soon  throw  him  off  from  his  back  as  he 
will  shake  off  the  son  of  a  porter.  But  a  flat- 
terer is  Hke  a  neighing  horse,  that  neigheth 
under  every  rider,  and  is  pleased  with  every- 
thing, and  commends  all  that  he  sees,  and 
tempts  to  mischief,  and  cares  not,  so  his  friend 
may  but  perish  pleasantly.  And  indeed  that  is 
a  calamity  that  undoes  many  a  soul;  we  so 
love  our  peace,  and  sit  so  easily  upon  our  own 
good  opinions,  and  are  so  apt  to  flatter  our- 
selves, and  lean  upon  our  o^ai  false  supports, 
that  we  cannot  endure  to  be  disturbed  or  awak- 
ened from  our  pleasing  lethargy.  For  we  care 
not  to  be  safe,  but  to  be  secure  ;  not  to  escape 
hell,  but  to  hve  pleasantly ;  we  are  not  solici- 
tous of  the  event,  but  of  the  way  thither ;  and 
it  is  sufiicient  if  we  be  persuaded  all  is  well ; 
in  the  mean  time  we  are  careless  whether  in- 
deed it  be  so  or  no,  and  therefore  we  give  pen- 
sions to  fools  and  vile  persons  to  abuse  us,  and 
cozen  us  of  fehcity. 


CONSOLATION. 

f^  OD  glories  in  the  appellative  that  he  is  the 
^  Father  of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  com- 
fort, and  therefore  to  minister  in  the  office  is  to 
become  like  God,  and  to  imitate  the  charities 


144  CONSOLATION. 

of  heaven  ;  and  God  hath  fitted  mankind  for 
it ;  he  most  needs  it,  and  he  feels  his  brother's 
wants  by  his  own  experience;  and  God  hath 
given  us  speech  and  the  endearments  of  soci- 
ety, and  pleasantness  of  conversation,  and  pow- 
ers of  seasonable  discourse,  arguments  to  allay 
the  sorrow,  by  abating  our  apprehensions,  and 
taking  out  the  sting,  or  telling  the  periods  of 
comfort,  or  exciting  hope,  or  urging  a  precept, 
and  reconciling  our  affections,  and  reciting 
promises,  or  telling  stories  of  the  divine  mercy, 
or  changing  it  into  duty,  or  making  the  burden 
less  by  comparing  it  with  greater,  or  by  prov- 
ing it  to  be  less  than  we  deserve,  and  that  it  is 
so  intended,  and  may  become  the  instrument 
of  virtue.  And  certain  it  is,  that  as  nothing 
can  better  do  it,  so  there  is  nothing  greater 
for  which  God  made  our  tongues,  next  to  recit- 
ing his  praises,  than  to  minister  comfort  to  a 
weary  soul.  And  what  greater  measure  can 
we  have  than  that  we  should  bring  joy  to  our 
brother,  who  with  his  dreary  eyes  looks  to 
heaven  and  round  about,  and  cannot  find  so 
much  rest  as  to  lay  his  eyelids  close  together, 
than  that  thy  tongue  should  be  tuned  with 
heavenly  accents,  and  make  the  weary  soul  to 
listen  for  light  and  ease  ;  and  when  he  per- 
ceives that  there  is  such  a  thing  in  the  world, 
and  in  the  order  of  things,  as  comfort  and  joy, 
to  begin  to  break  out  fi-om  the  prison  of  his 


CONSOLATION.  145 

ft 

sorrows  at  the  door  of  sighs  and  tears,  and  by 
Httle  and  httle  melt  into  showers  and  refresh- 
ment ?  This  is  glory  to  thy  voice,  and  employ- 
ment fit  for  the  brightest  angel. 

But  so  have  I  seen  the  sun  kiss  the  fi'ozen 
earth,  which  was  bound  up  with  the  images  of 
death  and  the  colder  breath  of  the  north  ;  and 
then  the  waters  break  from  their  enclosures, 
and  melt  with  joy,  and  run  in  useful  channels  ; 
and  the  flies  do  rise  again  from  their  httle 
graves  in  walls,  and  dance  a  while  in  the  air, 
to  tell  that  there  is  joy  within,  and  that  the 
great  mother  of  creatures  ydW.  oj)en  the  stock 
of  her  new  refreshment,  become  usefiil  to  man- 
kind, and  sing  praises  to  her  Redeemer.  So  is 
the  heart  of  a  sorrowftil  man  under  the  dis- 
courses of  a  wise  comforter ;  he  breaks  from 
the  despairs  of  the  grave  and  the  fetters  and 
chains  of  sorrow,  he  blesses  God,  and  he  blesses 
thee,  and  he  feels  his  hfe  returning ;  for  to  be 
miserable  is  death,  but  nothing  is  life  but  to  be 
comforted ;  and  God  is  pleased  with  no  music 
from  below,  so  much  as  in  the  thanksgiving 
songs  of  reheved  widows,  of  supported  or- 
phans, of  rejoicing  and  comforted  and  thank- 
ftil  persons. 

This  part  of  communication  does  the  work 
of  God  and  of  our  neighbors,  and  bears  us  to 
heaven  in  streams  of  joy  made  by  the  over- 
flowings of  our  brother's  comfort.  It  is  a  fear- 
10 


146  THE  SPIRIT  OF  GRACE. 

ful  tiling  to  see  a  man  despairing.  None  knows 
the  sorrow  and  the  intolerable  anguish  but 
themselves,  and  they  that  are  damned ;  and  so 
are  all  the  loads  of  a  wounded  spirit,  when  the 
staff  of  a  man's  broken  fortune  bows  his  head 
to  the  ground,  and  sinks  like  an  osier  under 
the  violence  of  a  mighty  tempest.  But  there- 
fore in  proportion  to  this  I  may  tell  the  excel- 
lency of  the  employment,  and  the  duty  of  that 
charity,  which  bears  the  dying  and  languishing 
soul  from  the  fringes  of  hell  to  the  seat  of  the 
brightest  stars,  where  God's  face  shines  and 
Reflects  comforts  forever  and  ever. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  GRACE. 

TN  the  law,  God  gave  his  spirit  in  small  pro- 
-*-  portions,  like  the  dew  upon  Gideon's  fleece ; 
a  little  portion  was  wet  sometimes  with  the 
dew  of  heaven,  when  all  the  earth  besides  was 
dry.  And  the  Jews  called  it  '•'■filiam  vocis,^^ 
the  daughter  of  a  voice,  still,  and  small,  and 
seldom,  and  that  by  secret  whispers,  and  some- 
times inarticulate,  by  way  of  enthusiasm  rather 
than  of  instruction ;  and  God  spake  by  the 
prophets,  transmitting  the  sound  as  through  an 
organ-pipe,  things  which  themselves  oftentimes 
understood  not.     But  in  the  gospel,  the  spirit 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  GRACE.  147 

is  given  without  measure ;  first  poured  forth 
upon  our  head  Christ  Jesus  ;  then  descending 
upon  the  beard  of  Aaron,  the  fathers  of  the 
Church,  and,  thence  falhng,  Mke  the  tears  of  the 
balsam  of  Judea,  upon  the  foot  of  the  plant, 
upon  the  lowest  of  the  people.  And  this  is 
given  regvilarly  to  all  that  ask  it,  to  all  that  can 
receive  it,  and  by  a  solemn  ceremony,  and  con- 
veyed by  a  sacrament :  and  is  now,  not  the 
daughter  of  a  voice,  but  the  mother  of  many 
voices,  of  divided  tongues,  and  united  hearts  ; 
of  the  tongues  of  prophets,  and  the  duty  of. 
saints;  of  the  sermons  of  apostles,  and  the  wis- 
dom of  governors.  It  is  the  parent  of  boldness 
and  fortitude  to  martyrs,  the  fountain  of  learn- 
ing to  doctors,  an  ocean  of  all  things  excellent 
to  all  who  are  within  the  ship  and  bounds  of 
the  catholic  Church.  So  that  old  men  and 
young  men,  maidens  and  boys,  the  scribe  and 
the  unlearned,  the  judge  and  the  advocate,  the 
priest  and  the  people,  are  full  of  the  spirit,  if 
they  belong  to  God.  Moses's  wish  is  fulfilled, 
and  all  the  Lord's  people  are  prophets  in  some 
sense  or  other. 

A  man  that  hath  tasted  of  God's  spirit  can 
instantly  discern  the  madness  that  is  in  rage, 
the  folly  and  the  disease  that  is  in  en\y,  the 
anguish  and  tediousness  that  is  in  lust,  the  dis- 
honor that  is  in  breakino;  our  faith  and  tellinjj 
a  lie  ;   and  imderstands  things  truly  as  they 


148        THE  SPIRIT   OF   GRACE. 

are ;  that  is,  that  charity  is  the  greatest  noble- 
ness in  the  world  ;  that  religion  hath  in  it  the 
greatest  pleasures  ;  that  temperance  is  the  best 
security  of  health ;  that  humility  is  the  surest 
way  to  honor.  And  all  these  relishes  are  noth- 
ing but  antepasts  of  heaven,  where  the  quintes- 
sence of  all  these  pleasures  shall  be  swallowed 
forever ;  where  the  chaste  shall  follow  the 
Lamb,  and  the  virgins  sing  there  where  the 
mother  of  Jesus  shall  reign  ;  and  the  zealous 
converters  of  souls,  and  the  laborers  in  God's 
vineyard,  shall  worship  eternally ;  where  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul  do  wear  their  crowns  of 
righteousness ;  and  the  patient  persons  shall  be 
rewarded  with  Job,  and  the  meek  persons  with 
Christ  and  Moses,  and  all  with  God.  The  very 
expectation  of  which  proceeded  from  a  hope 
begotten  in  us  by  the  spirit  of  manifestation, 
and  bred  up  and  strengthened  by  the  spirit  of 
obsignation,  is  so  delicious  an  entertainment  of 
all  our  reasonable  appetites,  that  a  spiritual 
man  can  no  more  be  removed  or  enticed  from 
the  love  of  God  and  of  religion  than  the  moon 
from  her  orb,  or  a  mother  from  loving  the  son 
of  her  joys  and  of  her  sorrows. 

I  have  read  of  a  spiritual  person  who  saw 
heaven  but  in  a  dream,  but  such  as  made  great 
impression  upon  him,  and  was  represented  with 
vigorous  and  pertinacious  phantasms  not  easily 
disbanding;  and  when  he  awaked  he  knew  not 


THE  SPIRIT   OF   GRACE.  149 

his  cell,  he  remembered  not  him  that  slept  iii 
the  same  dorture,  nor  could  tell  how  night  and 
day  were  distinguished,  nor  could  discern  oil 
from  wine  ;  but  called  out  for  his  vision  again  : 
''  Redde  mild  campos  meos  Jloridos,  columnam 
auream,  comitem  Hieronymum^  assistentes  ange- 
los  "  ;  Give  me  my  fields  again,  my  most  deli- 
cious fields,  my  pillar  of  a  glorious  light,  my 
companion  St.  Jerome,  my  assistant  angels. 
And  this  lasted  till  he  was  told  of  his  duty, 
and  matter  of  obedience,  and  the  fear  of  a 
sin  had  disencharmed  him,  and  caused  him  to 
take  care  lest  he  lose  the  substance  out  of 
greediness  to  possess  the  shadow. 

Prayer  is  one  of  the  noblest  exercises  of  the 
Christian  religion  ;  or  rather  it  is  that  duty  in 
which  all  graces  are  concentrated.  Prayer  is 
charity,  it  is  faith,  it  is  a  conformity  to  God's 
will,  a  desiring  according  to  the  desires  of 
heaven,  an  imitation  of  Christ's  intercession, 
and  prayer  must  suppose  all  holiness,  or  else 
it  is  nothing :  and  therefore  all  that  in  which 
men  need  God's  spirit,  all  that  is  in  order  to 
prayer.  Baptism  is  but  a  prayer,  and  the  holy 
sacrament  of  the  Lord's  supper  is  but  a  prayer ; 
a  prayer  of  sacrifice  representative,  and  a 
prayer  of  oblation,  and  a  prayer  of  intercession, 
and  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving.  And  obedience 
is  a  prayer,  and  begs  and  procures  blessings. 


150  THE  GLORY   OF   GOD. 


THE   DECLINE   OF    CHRISTENDOM. 

TT  is  a  sad  calamity  that  is  fallen  upon  all  the 
^  Seven  Churches  (^  Asia,  (to  whom  the  spirit 
of  God  wrote  seven  epistles  hj  Saint  John,) 
and  almost  all  the  churches  of  Africa,  where 
Christ  was  worshipped,  and  now  Mahomet  is 
thrust  in  substitution,  and  the  people  are  ser- 
vants, and  the  religion  is  extinguished ;  or  where 
it  remains  it  shines  like  the  moon  in  an  eclipse, 
or  like  the  least  spark  of  the  Pleiades,  seen  but 
seldom,  and  that  rather  shining  Kke  a  glow- 
worm than  a  taper  enkindled  with  a  beam  of 
the  sun  of  righteousness. 


THE   GLORY  OF   GOD. 

GOD  is  the  eternal  fountain  of  honor  and  the 
spring  of  glory  ;  in  him  it  dwells  essen- 
tially, from  him  it  derives  originally  ;  and  when 
an  action  is  glorious,  or  a  man  is  honorable,  it 
is  because  the  action  is  pleasing  to  God,  in  the 
relation  of  obedience  or  imitation,  and  because 
the  man  is  honored  by  God,  and  by  God's  vice- 
gerent. And  therefore  God  cannot  be  dishon- 
ored, because  all  honor  comes  from  himself; 
he  cannot  but  be  glorified,  because  to  be  him- 


TEE   GLORY   OF   GOD.  151 

self  is  to  be  infinitely  glorious.  And  yet  he  is 
pleased  to  say  that  our  sins  dishonor  him,  and 
our  obedience  does  glorify  him.  But  as  the 
sun,  the  great  eye  of  the  world,  prying  into  the 
recesses  of  rocks  and  the  hollowness  of  valleys, 
receives  species  or  visible  forms  from  these 
objects,  but  he  beholds  them  only  by  that  light 
which  proceeds  from  himself:  so  does  God, 
who  is  the  light  of  that  eye  ;  he  receives  re- 
flexes and  returns  from  us,  and  these  he  calls 
glorifications  of  himself,  but  they  are  such 
which  are  made  so  by  his  own  gracious  ac- 
ceptation. For  God  cannot  be  glorified  by 
anything  but  by  himself,  and  by  his  own  in- 
struments, which  he  makes  as  mirrors  to  reflect 
his  own  excellency ;  that,  by  seeing  the  glory 
of  such  emanations,  he  may  rejoice  in  his  own 
works,  because  they  are  images  of  his  mfinity. 
Thus  when  he  made  the  beauteous  frame  of 
heaven  and  earth,  he  rejoiced  in  it  and  glori- 
fied himself ;  because  it  was  the  glass  in  which 
he  beheld  his  wisdom  and  almighty  power. 
And  when  God  destroyed  the  old  world,  in 
that  also  he  glorified  himself;  for  in  those 
w^aters  he  saw  the  image  of  his  justice,  —  they 
were  the  looking-glass  for  that  attribute. 

All  the  actions  of  a  holy  life  do  constitute 
the  mass  and  body  of  all  those  instruments 
whereby  God  is  pleased  to  glorify  himself.  For 
if  God  is  glorified  in  the  sun  and  moon,  in  the 


152  DEATH-BED  REPENTANCE. 

rare  fabric  of  the  honey-combs,  in  the  discipHne 
of  bees,  in  the  economy  of  pismires,  in  the  httle 
houses  of  birds,  in  the  curiosity  of  an  eye,  God 
being  pleased  to  dehght  in  those  httle  images 
and  reflexes  of  himself  from  those  pretty  mir- 
rors, which,  like  a  cre^dce  in  a  wall,  through  a 
narrow  perspective  transmit  the  species  of  a 
vast  excellency ;  much  rather  shall  God  be 
pleased  to  behold  himself  in  the  glasses  of  our 
obedience,  in  the  emissions  of  our  will  and 
understanding ;  these  being  rational  and  apt 
instruments  to  express  him,  far  better  than 
the  natural,  as  being  nearer  communications 
of  himself. 


DEATH-BED  REPENTANCE. 

OINCE  repentance  is  a  duty  of  so  great  and 
^  giant-like  bulk,  let  no  man  crowd  it  up  into 
so  narrow  room  as  that  it  be  strangled  in  its 
birth  for  want  of  time,  and  air  to  breathe  in. 
Let  it  not  be  put  oflp  to  that  time  when  a  man 
hath  scarce  time  enough  to  reckon  all  those 
particular  duties  which  make  up  the  integrity 
of  its  constitution.  Will  any  man  hunt  the 
wild  boar  in  his  garden,  or  bait  a  bull  in  his 
closet  ?  Will  a  woman  wrap  her  child  in  her 
handkerchief,  or  a  father  send  his  son  to  school 


DEATH-BED  REPENTANCE.  153 

when  lie  is  fifty  years  old  ?  These  are  mdecen- 
cies  of  providence,  and  the  instrument  contra- 
dicts the  end :  and  this  is  our  case.  There  is 
no  room  for  the  repentance,  no  time  to  act  all 
its  essential  parts. 

When  God  requu'es  nothing  of  us  but  to  live 
soberly,  justly,  and  godly,  —  which  very  things 
of  themselves  to  man  are  a  very  great  felicity, 
and  necessary  to  his  present  well-being, — 
shall  we  thinic  this  to  be  a  load,  and  an  insuf- 
ferable bm-den ;  and  that  heaven  is  so  little  a 
purchase  at  that  price,  that  God  in  mere  justice 
will  take  a  death-bed  sigh  or  groan,  and  a  few 
unprofitable  tears  and  promises,  in  exchange 
for  all  our  duty  ?  Strange  it  should  be  so ;  but 
stranger  that  any  man  should  rely  upon  such 
a  vanity,  when  from  God's  word  he  hath  noth- 
ing to  warrant  such  a  confidence.  But  these 
men  do  hke  the  tyrant  Dionysius,  who  stole 
from  Apollo  his  golden  cloak  and  gave  him  a 
cloak  of  Arcadian  homespun,  sa3ang  that  this 
was  lio-hter  in  summer  and  warmer  in  winter. 
These  men  sacrilegiously  rob  God  of  the  service 
of  all  their  golden  days,  and  serve  him  in  their 
hoary  head,  in  their  furs  and  grave-clothes. 


154        DECEITFULNESS   OF   TEE  HEART. 


DECEITFULNESS   OF   THE   HEAET. 

1I.TAN  is  helpless  and  vain  ;  of  a  condition  so 
-'-*-'-  exposed  to  calamity,  that  a  raisin  is  able  to 
kill  him ;  any  trooper  ont  of  the  Egyptian 
army,  a  fly,  can  do  it,  when  it  goes  on  God's 
errand ;  the  most  contemptible  accident  can 
destroy  him,  the  smallest  chance  affright  him, 
every  future  contingency,  when  but  considered 
as  possible,  can  amaze  him ;  and  he  is  encom- 
passed with  potent  and  mahcious  enemies, 
subtle  and  implacable. 

The  heart  is  deceitful  m  its  strength ;  and 
when  we  have  the  growth  of  a  man,  we  have 
the  weaknesses  of  a  child.  Nay,  more  yet,  and 
it  is  a  sad  consideration,  the  more  we  are  in 
age,  the  weaker  in  our  courage.  It  appears  in 
the  heats  and  forwardnesses  of  new  converts, 
which  are  like  to  the  great  emissions  of  heht- 
ning,  or  like  huge  fires  which  flame  and  burn 
without  measure,  even  all  that  they  can ;  till 
from  flames  they  descend  to  still  fires,  from 
thence  to  smoke,  from  smoke  to  embers,  and 
from  thence  to  ashes,  —  cold  and  pale,  like 
ghosts,  or  the  fantastic  images  of  death.  And 
the  Primitive  Church  were  zealous  in  their  re- 
hgion  up  to  the  degree  of  cherubims,  and  would 
run  as  greedily  to  the  sword  of  the  hangman, 
to  die  for  the   cause  of  God,  as  we   do  now 


DECEITFULNESS   OF   THE  HEART.         155 

to  the  greatest  joy  and  entertainment  of  a 
Christian  spirit,  —  even  to  the  receiving  of  the 
holy  sacrament.  A  man  would  think  it  rea- 
sonable that  the  first  infancy  of  Christianity 
should,  according  to  the  nature  of  first  begin- 
nings, have  been  remiss,  gentle,  and  inactive  ; 
and  that,  according  as  the  object  or  evidence 
of  faith  grew,  which  in  every  age  hath  a  great 
degree  of  argument  superadded  to  its  confir- 
mation, so  should  the  habit  also  and  the  grace  ; 
the  longer  it  lasts,  and  the  more  objections  it 
runs  through,  it  still  should  show  a  brighter 
and  more  certain  light  to  discover  the  divmity 
of  its  principle  ;  and  that,  after  the  more  ex- 
amples, and  new  accidents  and  strangenesses 
of  Providence,  and  daily  experience,  and  the 
multitude  of  miracles,  still  the  Christian  should 
grow  more  certain  in  his  faith,  more  refreshed 
in  his  hope,  and  warm  in  his  charity ;  the  very 
nature  of  these  graces  increasing  and  swelling 
upon  the  very  nourishment  of  experience,  and 
the  multiplication  of  then*  own  acts.  And  yet, 
because  the  heart  of  man  is  false,  it  suffers  the 
fires  of  the  altar  to  go  out,  and  the  flames 
lessen  by  the  multitude  of  fuel.  But,  indeed, 
it  is  because  we  put  on  strange  fire,  and  put 
out  the  fire  upon  our  hearths  by  letting  in  a 
glaring  sunbeam,  the  fire  of  lust,  or  the  heats 
of  an  angry  spirit,  to  quench  the  fire  of  God, 
and    suppress    the    sweet    cloud    of   incense. 


156         DECEITFULNESS   OF   THE  HEART. 

There  is  no  greater  argument  in  the  world  of 
our  spiritual  weakness,  and  the  falseness  of  our 
hearts  in  the  matters  of  religion,  than  the  back- 
wardness which  most  men  have  always,  and  all 
men  have  sometimes,  to  say  their  prayers  ;  so 
weary  of  their  length,  so  glad  when  they  are 
done,  so  witty  to  excuse  and  frustrate  an  op- 
portunity :  and  yet  there  is  no  manner  of 
trouble  in  the  duty,  no  weariness  of  bones,  no 
violent  labors ;  nothing  but  begging  a  blessing, 
and  receiving  it ;  nothing  but  doing  ourselves 
the  greatest  honor  of  speaking  to  the  greatest 
person,  and  greatest  king  of  the  world :  and 
that  we  should  be  unwilling  to  do  this,  so  un- 
able to  continue  in  it,  so  backward  to  return  to 
it,  so  without  gust  and  relish  in  the  doing  it, 
can  have  no  visible  reason  in  the  nature  of  the 
thing  but  something  within  us,  a  strange  sick- 
ness in  the  heart,  a  spiritual  nauseating  or 
loathing  of  manna,  something  that  hath  no 
name  ;  but  we  are  sure  that  it  comes  from  a 
weak,  a  faint  and  false  heart. 

Epictetus  tells  us  of  a  gentleman  returning 
from  banishment,  who,  in  his  journey  towards 
home,  called  at  his  house,  told  a  sad  story  of  an 
imprudent  life,  the  greatest  part  of  which  being 
now  spent,  he  was  resolved  for  the  future  to 
live  philosophically  and  entertain  no  biisiness, 
to  be  candidate  for  no  employment,  not  to  go 
to  the  court,  not  to  salute  Caesar  with  ambitious 


DECEITFULNESS   OF   TEE  HEART.         157 

attendances,  but  to  study,  and  worship  the 
gods,  and  die  willingly  when  nature  or  neces- 
sity called  him.  It  may  be,  this  man  believed 
himself;  but  Epictetus  did  not.  And  he  had 
reason  :  letters  from  Caesar  met  him  at  the 
doors,  and  invited  him  to  court ;  and  he  forgot 
all  his  promises  which  were  warm  upon  his 
lips,  and  grew  pompous,  secular,  and  ambi- 
tious, and  gave  the  gods  thanks  for  his  prefer- 
ment. Thus  many  men  leave  the  world  when 
their  fortune  hath  left  them  ;  and  they  are 
severe  and  philosophical,  and  retired  forever,  if 
forever  it  be  impossible  to  return.  But  let  a 
prosperous  sunshine  warm  and  refresh  their 
sadnesses,  and  make  it  but  possible  to  break 
their  purposes,  and  there  needs  no  more  temp- 
tation ;  their  own  false  heart  is  enough  ;  they 
are  like  Ephraim  in  the  day  of  battle,  starting 
aside  like  a  broken  bow. 

The  heart  is  false,  deceiving  and  deceived, 
in  its  intentions  and  designs.  A  man  hears  the 
precepts  of  God  enjoining  us  to  give  alms  of 
all  we  possess  ;  he  readily  obeys  with  much 
cheerfrilness  and  alacrity,  and  his  charity,  like 
a  fair-spreading  tree,  looks  beauteously.  But 
there  is  a  canker  at  the  heart ;  the  man  blows 
a  trumpet  to  call  the  poor  together,  and  hopes 
the  neighborhood  Avill  take  notice  of  his  bounty. 
Nay,  he  gives  alms  privately,  and  charges  no 
man  to  speak  of  it,  and  yet  hopes  by  some 


158        DECEITFULNESS   OF   THE  HEART. 

accident  or  other  to  be  praised  both  for  his 
charity  and  humihty.  And  if,  by  chance,  the 
fame  of  his  ahns  come  abroad,  it  is  but  his  duty 
to  "  let  his  light  so  shine  before  men"  that 
God  may  be  glorified. 

There  is  wrought  upon  the  spirits  of  many 
men  great  impressions  by  education,  by  a  mod- 
est and  temperate  natia'e,  by  human  laws  and 
the  customs  and  severities  of  sober  persons, 
and  the  fears  of  religion,  and  the  awfulness  of 
a  reverend  man,  and  the  several  argu.ments 
and  endearments  of  virtue  :  and  it  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  some  men  to  do  an  act  in  despite  of 
reason,  and  religion,  and  arguments,  and  rever- 
ence, and  modesty,  and  fear ;  but  men  are 
forced  from  their  sin  by  the  violence  of  the 
grace  of  God,  when  they  hear  it  speak.  But 
so  a  Roman  gentleman  kept  off  a  whole  band 
of  soldiers  who  were  sent  to  murder  him,  and 
his  eloquence  was  stronger  than  their  anger 
and  design  :  but,  suddenly,  a  rude  trooper 
rushed  upon  him,  who  neither  had  nor  would 
hear  him  speak ;  and  he  thrust  his  spear  into 
that  throat  whose  music  had  charmed  all  his 
fellows  into  peace  and  gentleness.  So  do  we. 
The  grace  of  God  is  armor  and  defence  enough 
against  the  most  violent  incursion  of  the  spirits 
and  the  works  of  darkness  ;  but  then  we  must 
hear  its  excellent  chamns,  and  consider  its 
reasons,  and  remember  its  precepts,  and  dwell 


DECEITFULNESS    OF   THE  HEART.         159 

with  its  discourses.  But  this  the  heart  of  man 
loves  not. 

Theocritus  tells  of  a  fisherriian  that  dreamed 
he  had  taken  a  fish  of  gold,  upon  which  being 
overjoyed,  he  made  a  vow  that  he  never  would 
fish  more ;  but  when  he  waked,  he  soon  de- 
clared his  vow  to  be  null,  because  he  fomid  his 
golden  fish  was  escaped  away  through  the  holes 
of  his  eyes  when  he  first  opened  them.  Just 
so  we  do  in  the  purposes  of  religion ;  some- 
times, in  a  good  mood,  we  seem  to,  see  heaven 
opened,  and  all  the  streets  of  the  heavenly 
Jerusalem  paved  with  gold  and  precious  stones, 
and  we  are  ravished  with  spiritual  apprehen- 
sions, and  resolve  never  to  return  to  the  low 
affections  of  the  world  and  the  impure  adher- 
ences  of  sin.  But  when  this  flash  of  liD'htninff 
is  gone,  and  we  converse  again  with  the  incli- 
nations and  habitual  desires  of  our  false  hearts, 
those  other  desires  and  fine  considerations  dis- 
band, and  the  resolutions,  taken  in  that  pious 
fit,  melt  into  indifference  and  old  customs. 

The  effect  of  all  is  this,  that  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  things  of  God.  We  make  religion  to  be 
the  work  of  a  few  hours  in  the  whole  year ;  we 
are  without  fancy  or  affection  to  the  severities 
of  holy  living ;  we  reduce  religion  to  the  be- 
lieving of  a  few  articles,  and  doing  nothing  that 
is  considerable  ;  we  pray  seldom,  and  then  but 
very  coldly  and  indifferently ;  we  communicate 


160         DECEITFULNESS   OF   THE  HEART. 

not  SO  often  as  the  sun  salutes  both  the  tropics; 
we  profess  Christ,  but  dare  not  die  for  him; 
we  are  factious  for  a  rehgion,  and  will  not  live 
according  to  its  precepts  ;  we  call  ourselves 
Christians,  and  love  to  be  ignorant  of  many  of 
the  laws  of  Christ,  lest  our  knowledge  should 
force  us  into  shame,  or  into  the  troubles  of  a 
holy  life.  All  the  mischiefs  that  you  can  sup- 
pose to  happen  to  a  furious,  inconsiderate  per- 
son, running  after  the  wildfires  of  the  night, 
over  rivers  and  rocks  and  precipices,  without 
sun  or  star,  or  angel  or  man,  to  guide  him  ;  all 
that,  and  ten  thousand  times  worse,  may  you 
suppose  to  be  the  certain  lot  of  him  who  gives 
himself  up  to  the  conduct  of  a  passionate,  blind 
heart,  whom  no  fire  can  warm,  and  no  sun  can 
enlighten  ;  who  hates  light,  and  loves  to  dwell 
in  the  remons  of  darkness. 

The  heart  of  man  is  strangely  proud.  If 
men  commend  us,  we  think  we  have  reason 
to  distinguish  om'selves  from  others,  since  the 
voice  of  discerning  men  hath  already  made  the 
separation.  If  men  do  not  commend  us,  we 
think  they  are  stupid  and  understand  us  not ; 
or  envious,  and  hold  their  tongues  in  spite.  If 
we  are  praised  by  many,  then  "  Vox  popidi^  vox 
Dei^^  Fame  is  the  voice  of  God.  If  Ave  be 
praised  but  by  few,  then,  "  Satis  unus,  satis 
nullus  "  ;  we  cry.  These  are  wise,  and  one  wise 
man  is  worth  a  whole  herd  of  the  people.    But 


DECEITFULNESS    OF   THE  HEART.         161 

if  we  be  praised  by  none  at  all,  we  resolve  to 
be  even  with  all  the  world,  and  speak  well  of 
nobody,  and  think  well  only  of  ourselves.  And 
then  we  have  such  beggarly  arts,  such  tricks, 
to  cheat  for  praise.  We  inquire  after  our  faults 
and  failings,  only  to  be  told  Ave  have  none,  but 
did  excellently  ;  and  then  we  are  pleased :  we 
rail  upon  our  actions,  only  to  be  chidden  for  so 
doing ;  and  then  he  is  our  friend  who  chides  us 
into  a  good  opinion  of  ourselves,  which  how- 
ever all  the  world  cannot  make  us  part  with. 
Nay,  humihty  itself  makes  us  proud  ;  so  false, 
so  base  is  the  heart  of  man.  For  humility  is 
so  noble  a  virtue  that  even  pride  itself  puts  on 
its  upper  garment ;  and  we  do  like  those  who 
cannot  endure  to  look  upon  an  ugly  or  a  de- 
formed person,  and  yet  will  give  a  great  price 
for  a  picture  extremely  like  him.  Humility  is 
despised  in  substance,  but  courted  and  admired 
in  effigy.  And  ^Esop's  picture  was  sold  for 
two  talents,  when  himself  was  made  a  slave  at 
the  price  of  two  philippics.  And  because  hu- 
mility makes  a  man  to  be  honored,  therefore 
we  imitate  all  its  garbs  and  postures,  its  civili- 
ties and  silence,  its  modesties  and  condescen- 
sions. And,  to  prove  that  we  are  extremely 
proud  in  the  midst  of  all  this  pageantry,  we 
should  be  extremely  angry  at  any  man  that 
should  say  we  are  proud ;  and  that  is  a  sure 
sign  we  are  so.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  our 
11 


162  FAITE  AND  PATIENCE. 

arts  to  seem  liumble,  we  use  devices  to  bring 
ourselves  into  talk  ;  we  thrust  ourselves  into 
company,  we  listen  at  doors,  and,  like  the  great 
beards  in  Rome  that  pretended  philosophy  and 
strict  life,  "  we  walk  by  the  obelisk,"  and  medi- 
tate in  piazzas,  that  they  that  meet  us  may 
talk  of  us,  and  they  that  follow  may  cry  out, 
"  Behold !  there  goes  an  excellent  man  !  He  is 
very  prudent,  or  very  learned,  or  a  charitable 
person,  or  a  good  housekeeper,  or  at  least  very 
humble." 

When  the  heart  of  man  is  bound  up  by  the 
grace  of  God,  and  tied  in  golden  bands,  and 
watched  by  angels,  tended  by  those  nurse- 
keepers  of  the  soul,  it  is  not  easy  for  a  man  to 
wander ;  and  the  evil  of  his  heart  is  but  like 
the  ferity  and  wildness  of  lions'  whelps.  But 
when  once  we  have  broken  the  hedge,  and  got 
into  the  strengths  of  youth,  and  the  licentious- 
ness of  an  ungoverned  age,  it  is  wonderful  to 
observe  what  a  great  inundation  of  mischief  in 
a  very  short  time  will  overflow  all  the  banks  of 
reason  and  rehgion. 


S 


FAITH  AND   PATIENCE. 

O  long  as  the  world  lived  by  sense  and  dis- 
courses of  natural   reason,  as   they  were 


FAITH  AND  PATIENCE.  163 

abated  with  human  infirmities  and  not  at  all 
heightened  by  the  spirit  and  divine  revelations, 
so  long  men  took  their  accounts  of  good  and 
-bad  by  their  being  prosperous  or  unfortunate  ; 
and  amongst  the  basest  and  most  ignorant  of 
men  that  only  was  accounted  honest  which 
was  profitable,  and  he  only  wise  that  was 
rich,  and  those  men  beloved  of  God  who 
received  from  him  all  that  might  satisfy  their 
lust,  their  ambition,  or  their  revenge. 

But  because  God  sent  wise  men  into  the 
world,  and  they  were  treated  rudely  by  the 
world,  and  exercised  with  evil  accidents,  and 
this  seemed  so  great  a  discouragement  to  virtue, 
that  even  these  wise  men  were  more  troubled 
to  reconcile  virtue  and  misery  than  to  reconcile 
their  affections  to  the  suffering ;  God  was  pleased 
to  enlio-hten  their  reason  with  a  little  beam  of 
faith,  or  else  heightened  their  reason  by  wiser 
principles  than  those  of  vulgar  understandings, 
and  taught  them  in  the  clear  glass  of  faith,  or 
the  dim  perspective  of  philosopliy,  to  look  be- 
yond the  cloud,  and  there  to  spy  that  there 
stood  glories  behind  their  curtain,  to  which  they 
could  not  come  but  by  passing  through  the 
cloud,  and  being  wet  with  the  dew  of  heaven 
and  the  waters  of  affliction.  And  according  as 
the  world  grew  more  enlightened  by  faith,  so  it 
grew  more  dark  with  mourning  and  sorrows. 
God  sometimes  sent  a  light  of  fire,  and  a  pillar 


164  FAITH  AND  PATIENCE. 

of  a  cloud,  and  the  brightness  of  an  angel,  and 
the  lustre  of  a  star,  and  the   sacrament  of  a 
rainbow,  to  guide  his  people  through  their  por- 
tion   of  sorrows,   and   to   lead   them   through 
troubles  to  rest.     But  as  the  sun  of  righteous- 
ness approached  towards  the  chambers  of  the 
east,  and  sent  the  harbingers  of  hght  peeping 
through  the  curtains  of  the  night,  and  leading 
on  the  day  of  faith  and  brightest  revelation  ; 
so  God  sent  degrees  of  trouble  upon  wise  and 
good  men,  that  now  in  the  same  degree  m  the 
which  the  world  "  lives  by  faith  "  and  not  by 
sense,  in  the  same  degree  they  might  be  able 
to  live  in  virtue  even  while  she  lived  in  trouble, 
and  not  reject  so  great  a  beauty  because  she 
goes  in  mourning,  and  hath  a  black  cloud  of 
cypress  drawn  before  her  face.     Literally  thus: 
God  first  entertained  their  services,  and  allured 
and  prompted  on  the  infirmities  of  the  infant 
world  by  temporal  prosperity ;  but  by  degrees 
changed  his  method,  and  as  men  grew  stronger 
in  the  knowledge  of  God  and  the  expectations 
of  heaven,  so  they  grew  weaker  in  their  for- 
tunes,  more    afflicted    in    their    bodies,    more 
abated  in  their  expectations,   more  subject  to 
their  enemies,  and  were  to  "  endure  the  con- 
tradiction of  sinners,"  and  the  immission  of  the 
sharpnesses  of  providence  and  chvine  economy. 


THE  HUMILIATION   OF   CHRIST.  165 


THE   HUMILIATION   OF  CHRIST. 

JESUS  entered  into  the  world  with  all  the 
circumstances  of  poverty.  He  had  a  star 
to  illustrate  his  birth  ;  but  a  stable  for  his  bed- 
chamber, and  a  manger  for  his  cradle.  The 
angels  sang  hymns  when  he  was  born ;  but  he 
was  cold  and  cried,  uneasy  and  unprovided. 
He  hved  long  in  the  trade  of  a  carpenter  ;  he 
by  whom  God  made  the  world  had,  in  his 
first  years,  the  business  of  a  mean  and  ignoble 
trade.  He  did  good  wherever  he  went ;  and 
almost  wherever  he  went  was  abused.  He 
deserved  heaven  for  his  obedience,  but  fovmd 
a  cross  in  his  way  thither:  and  if  ever  any  man 
had  reason  to  expect  fan-  usages  fi'om  God,  and 
to  be  dandled  in  the  lap  of  ease,  softness,  and  a 
prosperous  fortune,  he  it  was  only  that  could 
deserve  that,  or  anything  that  can  be  good. 
But  after  he  had  chosen  to  live  a  life  of  vir- 
tue, of  poverty  and  labor,  he  entered  into  a 
state  of  death. 

All  that  Christ  came  for  was,  or  was  mingled 
with,  sufferings :  for  all  those  little  joys  which 
God  sent,  either  to  recreate  his  person,  or  to 
illustrate  his  office,  were  abated  or  attended 
with  afflictions ;  God  being  more  careful  to 
establish  in  him  the  covenant  of  siifferings 
than  to  refresh  his  sorrows.      Presently  afler 


166  THE  HUMILIATION   OF   CHRIST. 

the  angels  had  finished  their  hallelujahs,  he 
was  forced  to  fly  to  save  his  life ;  and  the  air 
became  full  of  shrieks  of  the  desolate  mothers 
of  Bethlehem  for  their  dying  babes.  God  had 
no  sooner  made  him  illustrious  with  a  voice 
from  heaven,  and  the  descent  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  upon  him  in  the  waters  of  baptism,  but 
he  was  delivered  over  to  be  tempted  and  as- 
saulted by  the  devil  in  the  wilderness.  His 
transfiguration  was  a  bright  ray  of  glory  ;  but 
then  also  he  entered  into  a  cloud,  and  was  told 
a  sad  story  what  he  was  to  suffer  at  Jerusalem. 
And  upon  Palm-Sunday,  when  he  rode  tri- 
umphantly into  Jerusalem,  and  was  adorned 
with  the  acclamations  of  a  king  and  a  God,  he 
wet  the  palms  with  his  tears,  sweeter  than  the 
drops  of  manna  or  the  little  pearls  of  heaven 
that  descended  upon  Mount  Hermon  ;  weeping 
in  the  midst  of  this  triumph  over  obstinate, 
perishing,  and  malicious  Jerusalem.  For  this 
Jesus  was  like  the  rainbow  which  God  set  in 
the  clouds  as  a  sacrament  to  confirm  a  promise 
and  establish  a  grace  ;  he  was  half  made  of  the 
glories  of  the  light,  and  half  of  the  moisture  of 
a  cloud ;  in  his  best  days  he  was  but  half  tri- 
umph and  half  sorrow :  he  was  sent  to  tell  of 
his  Father's  mercies,  and  that  God  intended 
to  spare  us ;  but  appeared  not  but  in  the  com- 
pany or  in  the  retinue  of  a  shower,  and  of  foul 
weather. 


THE  HUMILIATION   OF   CHRIST.  167 

But  I  need  not  tell  that  Jesus,  beloved  of 
God,  was  a  suffering  person.  That  which  con- 
cerns tills  question  most,  is,  that  he  made  for 
us  a  covenant  of  sufferings  ;  his  doctrines  were 
such  as  expressly  and  by  consequence  enjoin  and 
suppose  sufferings  and  a  state  of  affliction  ;  his 
very  promises  were  sufferings  ;  his  beatitudes 
were  sufferings ;  his  rewards,  and  his  argu- 
ments to  invite  men  to  follow  him,  were  only 
taken  from  sufferings  m  this  life,  and  the  re- 
ward of  sufferings  hereafter.  We  must  follow 
him  that  was  crowned  with  thorns  and  sor- 
rows, —  him  that  was  drenched  in  Cedron, 
nailed  upon  the  cross,  that  deserved  all  good 
and  suffered  all  evil ;  that  is  the  sum  of  the 
Christian  religion,  as  it  distinguishes  from  all 
the  relio-ions  of  the  world.  So  that  if  we  will 
serve  the  kino-  of  sufferings,  whose  crown  was 
of  thorns,  whose  sceptre  was  a  reed  of  scorn, 
whose  imperial  robe  Avas  a  scarlet  of  mockery, 
whose  throne  was  the  cross,  we  must  serve 
him  in  siifferings,  in  poverty  of  spirit,  in  humil- 
ity and  mortification.  And  for  our  reward  we 
shall  have  persecution,  and  all  its  blessed  con- 
sequents.    '•'■  Atque  lioc  est  esse  Christianum." 

For  as  the  gospel  was  founded  in  sufferings, 
we  shall  also  see  it  grow  in  persecutions  :  and 
as  Christ's  blood  did  cement  the  corner-stones 
and  the  first  foundations,  so  the  blood  and 
sweat,  the  groans  and  sighings,  the  afflictions 


168  TRIUMPHS   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

and  mortifications  of  saints  and  martyrs  did 
make  the  superstructures,  and  must  at  last 
finish  the  building. 


TRIUMPHS   OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

NOW  began  to  work  the  greatest  glory  of 
the  divine  providence  :  here  was  the  case 
of  Christianity  at  stake.  The  world  was  rich 
and  prosperous,  learned  and  full  of  wise  men  ; 
the  gospel  was  preached  with  poverty  and 
persecution,  in  simplicity  of  discourse,  and  in 
demonstration  of  the  spirit.  God  was  on  one 
side,  and  the  devil  on  the  other  ;  they  each 
of  them  dressed  up  their  city  ;  Babylon  upon 
earth,  Jerusalem  from  above.  The  devil's  city 
was  full  of  pleasure,  triumphs,  victories,  and 
cruelty  ;  good  news,  and  great  wealth  ;  con- 
quest over  kings,  and  making  nations  tribu- 
tary. They  "  bound  kings  in  chains,  and  the 
nobles  with  links  of  iron  ;  and  the  inheritance 
of  the  earth  was  theirs."  The  Romans  were 
lords  over  the  greatest  part  of  the  world  ;  and 
God  permitted  to  the  devil  the  firmament  and 
increase,  the  wars  and  the  success  of  that  people 
giving  to  him  an  entire  power  of  disposing  the 
great  change  of  the  world   so  as  might   best 


TRIUMPHS    OF   CHRISTIANITY.  169 

increase  their  greatness  and  power :  and  lie 
therefore  did  it  because  all  the  power  of  the 
Roman  greatness  was  a  professed  enemy  to 
Christianity.  And,  on  the  other  side,  God 
was  to  build  up  Jerusalem,  and  the  kingdom 
of  the  gospel;  and  he  chose  to  build  it  of 
hewn  stone,  cut  and  broken.  The  Apostles 
he  chose  for  preachers,  and  they  had  no  learn- 
ing ;  women  and  mean  people  were  the  first 
disciples,  and  they  had  no  power.  The  devil 
was  to  lose  his  kingdom,  he  wanted  no  malice  ; 
and  therefore  he  stirred  up,  and,  as  well  as  he 
could,  he  made  active,  all  the  power  of  Rome, 
and  all  the  learning  of  the  Greeks,  and  all  the 
malice  of  barbarous  people,  and  all  the  preju- 
dice and  the  obstinacy  of  the  Jews,  against  this 
doctrine  and  institution,  which  preached,  and 
promised,  and  brought  persecution  along  with 
it.  On  the  one  side  there  was  "  scandalum  cru- 
cis,^^  on  the  other,  '■'■  jjatientia  sanctorum  "  ;  and 
what  was  the  event  ?  They  that  had  overcome 
the  world  could  not  strangle  Christianity.  But 
so  have  I  seen  the  sun  with  a  little  ray  of  distant 
light  challenge  all  the  power  of  darkness,  and, 
without  Aaolence  and  noise  climbing  up  the  hill, 
hath  made  night  so  to  retire  that  its  memorv 
was  lost  in  the  joys  and  sprightfulness  of  the 
morning.  And  Christianity,  without  violence 
or  armies,  without  resistance  and  self-preser- 
vation, without  strength  or  human  eloquence, 


170  TRIUMPHS    OF   CHRISTIANITY, 

without  challenging  of  privileges  or  fighting 
against  tyranny,  without  alteration  of  govern- 
ment and  scandal  of  princes,  with  its  humility 
and  meekness,  with  toleration  and  patience, 
with  obedience  and  charity,  with  praying  and 
dying,  did  insensibly  tvini  the  world  into  Chris- 
tian, and  persecution  into  victory. 

Presently  it  came  to  pass  that  men  were  no 
longer  ashamed  of  the  cross,  but  it  was  worn 
upon  breasts,  printed  in  the  air,  drawn  upon 
foreheads,  carried  upon  banners,  put  upon 
crowns  imperial.  Presently  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  religion  of  the  despised  Jesus  did 
infinitely  prevail  ;  a  religion  that  taught  men 
to  be  meek  and  humble,  apt  to  i^eceive  injuries, 
but  unapt  to  do  any ;  a  religion  that  gave 
countenance  to  the  poor  and  pitiful,  in  a  time 
when  riches  were  adored,  and  ambition  and 
pleasure  had  possessed  the  heart  of  all  man- 
kind ;  a  religion  that  would  change  the  face  of 
thino:s  and  the  hearts  of  men,  and  break  vile 
habits  into  gentleness  and  counsel.  That  such 
a  religion,  in  such  a  time,  by  the  sermons  and 
conduct  of  fishermen,  men  of  mean  breeding 
and  illiberal  ar-ts,  should  so  speedily  triumph 
over  the  philosophy  of  the  world,  and  the  argu- 
ments of  the  subtle,  and  the  sermons  of  the 
eloquent,  the  power  of  princes  and  the  inter- 
ests of  States,  the  inclinations  of  nature  and 
the  blindness  of  zeal,  the  force  of  custom  and 


TRIUMPHS   OF   CHRISTIANITY.  171 

the  solicitation  of  passions,  the  pleasures  of  sin 
and  the  busy  arts  of  the  devil ;  that  is,  against 
wit  and  power,  superstition  and  wilfulness, 
fame  and  money,  nature  and  empire,  which  are 
all  the  causes  in  this  world  that  can  make  a 
thing  impossible  ;  —  this,  this  is  to  be  ascribed 
to  the  power  of  God,  and  is  the  great  demon- 
stration of  the  resurrection  of  Jesus.  Every- 
thing was  an  argument  for  it,  and  improved  it ; 
no  objection  could  hinder  it,  no  enemies  destroy 
it ;  whatsoever  was  for  them,  it  made  the  relig- 
ion to  increase  ;  whatsoever  was  against  them, 
made  it  to  increase  ;  sunshine  and  storms,  fair 
weather  or  foul,  it  was  all  one  as  to  the  event 
of  things  :  for  they  were  instruments  in  the 
hands  of  God,  who  could  make  what  himself 
should  choose  to  be  the  product  of  any  cause  ; 
so  that  if  the  Christians  had  peace,  they  went 
abroad  and  brought  in  converts  ;  if  they  had 
no  peace,  but  persecution,  the  converts  came 
in  to  them.  In  prosperity  they  allured  and 
enticed  the  world  by  the  beauty  of  holiness;  in 
affliction  and  trouble  they  amazed  all  men  with 
the  splendor  of  tlieir  innocence  and  the  glo- 
ries of  their  patience  ;  and  quickly  it  was  that 
the  world  became  disciple  to  the  glorious  Naza- 
rene,  and  men  could  no  longer  doubt  of  the 
resurrection  of  Jesus,  when  it  became  so  de- 
monstrated by  the  certainty  of  them  that  saw 
it,  and  the  courage  of  them  that  died  for  it, 


172  AFFLICTIONS   OF   THE   CHURCH. 

and  the  multitude  of  them  that  believed  it ; 
who  by  their  sermons  and  their  actions,  by 
their  public  offices  and  discourses,  by  festivals 
and  eucharists,  by  arguments  of  experience 
and  sense,  by  reason  and  religion,  by  persuad- 
ing rational  men  and  establishing  believing 
Christians,  by  their  living  in  the  obedience  of 
Jesus  and  dying  for  the  testimony  of  Jesus, 
have  greatly  advanced  his  kingdom,  and  his 
power,  and  his  glory,  into  which  he  entered 
his  resurrection  from   the  dead. 


AFFLICTIONS   OF   THE    CHURCH. 

TF  under  a  head  crowned  with  thorns,  we 
-*-  bring  to  God  members  circled  with  roses, 
and  softness,  and  delicacy,  triumphant  mem- 
bers in  the  militant  Church,  God  will  reject  us  ; 
he  will  not  know  us  who  are  so  unlike  our 
elder  brother.  For  we  are  members  of  the 
Lamb,  not  of  the  lion  ;  and  of  Christ's  suffer- 
ing part,  not  of  the  triumphant  part :  and  for 
three  hundred  years  together  the  Church  lived 
upon  blood,  and  was  nourished  with  blood,  —  the 
blood  of  her  own  children.  Thirty-three  bish- 
ops of  Rome  in  immediate  succession  were  put 
to  violent  and  unnatural  deaths  ;  and  so  were 
all  the  churches  of  the  East  and  West  built. 


AFFLICTIONS   OF  THE   CHURCH.  173 

The  cause  of  Christ  and  of  reho-Ion  was  ad- 
vanced  by  the  sword,  but  it  was  the  sword  of 
the  persecutors,  not  of  resisters  or  warriors. 
They  were  all  baptized  into  the  death  of 
Christ ;  their  very  profession  and  institution 
is  to  live  like  him,  and,  when  he  requires  it, 
to  die  for  him  ;  that  is  the  very  formality,  the 
life  and  essence,  of  Christianity.  TJiis,  I  say, 
lasted  for  three  hundred  years,  that  the  pray- 
ers, and  the  backs,  and  the  necks  of  Cliristians 
fought  against  the  rods  and  axes  of  the  perse- 
cutors, and  prevailed,  till  the  country,  and  the 
cities,  and  the  court  itself,  was  filled  with 
Christians.  And  by  this  time  the  army  of 
martyi's  was  vast  and  nxunerous,  and  the  num- 
ber of  sufferers  blunted  the  hano;man's  sword. 
For  Christ  had  triumphed  over  the  princes  and 
powers  of  the  world,  before  he  would  admit 
them  to  serve  him  ;  he  first  felt  their  mahce, 
before  he  would  make  use  of  their  defence  ;  to 
show,  that  it  was  not  his  necessity  that  required 
it,  but  his  grace  that  admitted  kings  and  queens 
to  be  nurses  of  the  Church. 

Christ  also  promised  that  "  all  things  should 
work  together  for  the  best  to  his  servants," 
that  is,  he  would  "  out  of  the  eater  bring  meat, 
and  out  of  the  strong  issue  sweetness,"  and 
crowns  and  sceptres  should  spring  from  crosses, 
and  that  the  cross  itself  should  stand  upon  the 
globes  and  sceptres  of  princes  ;  but  he  never 


174  THE  RIGHTEOUS    OPPRESSED. 

promised  to  liis  servants  that  they  should  pur- 
sue kings  and  destroy  armies,  that  they  should 
reign  over  nations,  and  promote  the  cause  of 
Jesus  Christ  by  breaking  his  commandment. 
"  The  shield  of  faith,  and  the  sword  of  the 
spirit,  the  armor  of  righteousness,  and  the 
weapons  of  spiritual  warfare  "  ;  these  are  they 
by  which  Christianity  swelled  from  a  small 
company,  and  a  less  reputation,  to  possess  the 
chairs  of  doctors,  and  the  thrones  of  princes, 
and  the  hearts  of  all  men. 


THE    RIGHTEOUS   OPPRESSED. 

TF  prosperity  were  the  voice  of  God  to  ap- 
-*-  prove  an  action,  then  no  man  were  vicious 
but  he  that  is  punished,  and  nothing  were 
rebellion  but  that  which  cannot  be  easily  sup- 
pressed ;  and  no  man  were  a  pirate  but  he  that 
robs  with  a  little  vessel ;  and  no  man  could  be 
a  tyrant  but  that  he  is  no  prince  ;  and  no  man 
an  unjust  invader  of  his  neighbor's  rights  but 
he  that  is  beaten  and  overthrown.  Then  the 
crime  grows  big  and  loud,  then  it  calls  to 
heaven  for  vengeance,  when  it  hath  been  long 
a  growing,  when  it  hath  thriven  under  the 
devil's  managing ;  when  God  hath  long  suffered 
it,   and  with   patience,  in  vain  expecting  the 


THE  RIGHTEOUS   OPPRESSED.  175 

repentance  of  a  sinner.  He  that  "  treasures 
up  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath,"  that  man 
hath  been  a  prosperous,  that  is,  an  unpunished 
and  a  thriving  sinner :  but  then  it  is  the  sin 
that  thrives,  not  the  man :  and  that  is  the  mis- 
take upon  this  whole  question ;  for  t])e  sin  can- 
not thrive,  unless  the  man  goes  on  without  ap- 
parent punishment  and  restraint.  And  all  that 
the  man  gets  b}  it  is,  that  by  a  continual  course 
of  sin  he  is  prepared  for  an  intolerable  ruin. 

The  spirit  of  God  bids  us  look  upon  the  end 
of  these  men  ;  not  the  way  they  walk,  or  the 
instrument  of  that  pompous  death.  When 
Epaminondas  was  asked  which  of  the  three 
was  happiest,  himself,  Chabrias,  or  Iphicrates, 
he  bid  the  man  stay  till  they  were  all  dead ; 
for  till  then  that  question  could  not  be  an- 
swered. He  that  had  seen  the  Vandals  besiege 
the  city  of  Hippo,  and  had  known  the  barbar- 
ousness  of  that  michristened  people,  and  had 
observed  that  St.  Austin  with  all  his  prayers 
and  vows  could  not  obtain  peace  in  his  own 
days,  not  so  much  as  a  reprieve  for  the  perse- 
cution, and  then  had  observed  St.  Austin  die 
with  grief  that  very  night,  would  have  per- 
ceived his  calamity  more  visible  than  the  re- 
w'ard  of  his  piety  and  holy  religion.  AVhen 
Lewis,  surnamed  Pius,  went  his  voyage  to 
Palestine  upon  a  holy  end,  and  for  the  glory 
of  God,  to  fight  against  the  Saracens  and  Turks 


176  THE  RIGHTEOUS   OPPRESSED. 

and   Mamelukes,    the    world    did    promise    to 
themselves  that  a  good  cause  should  thrive  in 
the  hands  of  so  holy  a  man  ;   but  the  event 
was   far    otherwise :    his   brother   Robert  was 
killed,   and  his  army  destroyed,   and  himself 
taken  prisoner,  and  the  money  which  by  his 
mother  was  sent  for  his  redemption  was  cast 
away  in  a  storm,  and  he  was  exchanged  for  the 
last  town  the   Christians  had   in  Eg^-pt,  and 
brought   home   the  cross  of  Christ   upon   his 
shoulder  in  a  real  pressure  and  participation  of 
his  Master's   sufferings.      When  Charles   the 
Fifth  went  to  Algiers  to  suppress  pirates  and 
unchristened  villains,  the  cause  was  more  con- 
fident  than   the    event  was   prosperous ;    and 
when  he  was  almost   ruined  in  a  prodigious 
storm,  he  told  the  minutes  of  the  clock,  ex- 
pecting that  at  midnight,  when  religious  per- 
sons rose  to  matins,  he  should  be  eased  by  the 
benefit  of  their  prayers.     But  the  providence 
of  God  trod  upon  those  waters,  and  left  no  foot- 
steps for  discovery.      His  navy  was   beat   in 
pieces,  and  his  design  ended  in  dishonor,  and 
his  life  almost  lost  by  the  bargain.     Was  ever 
cause  more  bafiled  than  the  Christian  cause  by 
the  Turks  in  all  Asia  and  Africa,  and  some 
parts  of  Europe,  if  to  be  persecuted  and  af- 
flicted be  reckoned  a  calamity  ?    What  prince 
was    ever  more  unfortunate   than   Henry  the 
Sixth  of  England  ?    and  yet  that  age  saw  none 


THE  RIGHTEOUS   OPPRESSED.  177 

more  pious  and  devout.  And  the  title  of  the 
house  of  Lancaster  was  advanced  against  the 
right  of  York  for  three  descents.  But  what 
was  the  end  of  these  things  ?  The  persecuted 
men  were  made  saints,  and  their  memories  are 
preserved  in  honor,  and  their  souls  shall  reign 
forever.  And  some  good  men  were  engaged 
in  a  wrong  cause,  and  the  good  cause  was 
sometimes  managed  by  evil  men  ;  till  that  the 
suppressed  cause  was  hffced  up  by  God  in  the 
hands  of  a  young  and  prosperous  prince,  and 
at  last  both  interests  were  satisfied  in  the  con- 
junction of  two  roses,  which  was  brought  to 
issue  by  a  wonderful  chain  of  causes  managed 
by  the  divine  providence.  And  there  is  no 
age,  no  history,  no  state,  no  great  change  in 
the  world,  but  hath  ministered  an  example  of 
an  af&icted  truth,  and  a  prevailing  sin:  for  I 
will  never  more  call  that  sinner  prosperous, 
who,  after  he  hath  been  permitted  to  finish  his 
business,  shall  die  and  perish  miserably ;  for  at 
the  same  rate  we  may  envy  the  happiness  of  a 
poor  fisherman,  who,  while  his  nets  were  dry- 
ing, slept  upon  the  rock,  and  dreamt  that  he 
was  made  a  king ;  on  a  sudden  starts  up,  and 
leaping  for  joy,  falls  down  from  the  rock,  and 
in  the  place  of  his  imaginary  felicities  loses  his 
little  portion  of  pleasure  and  innocent  solaces 
he  had  from  the  sound  sleep  and  little  cares  of 
his  humble  cottage. 
12 


178        REAL  AND  APPARENT  HAPPINESS. 


REAL  AND  APPARENT  HAPPINESS. 

IF  we  should  look  under  the  skirt  of  the  pros- 
perous and  prevailing  tyrant,  we  should  find 
even  in  the  days  of  his  joys  such  allays  and 
abatements  of  his  pleasm'e  as  may  serve  to 
represent  him  presently  miserable,  besides  his 
final  infelicities.  For  I  have  seen  a  young  and 
healthful  person  warm  and  ruddy  under  a  poor 
and  thin  garment,  when  at  the  same  time  an 
old  rich  person  hath  been  cold  and  paralytic 
under  a  load  of  sables  and  the  skins  of  foxes. 
It  is  the  body  that  makes  the  clothes  warm, 
not  the  clothes  the  body ;  and  the  spirit  of  a 
man  makes  fehcity  and  content,  not  any  spoils 
of  a  rich  fortvme  wrapt  about  a  sickly  and  an 
uneasy  soul.  ApoUodorus  M^as  a  traitor  and  a 
tyrant,  and  the  world  wondered  to  see  a  bad 
man  have  so  good  a  fortune  ;  but  knew  not  that 
he  nourished  scorpions  in  his  breast,  and  that 
his  liver  and  his  heart  were  eaten  up  with  spec- 
tres and  images  of  death.  His  thoughts  were 
full  of  interruptions,  his  dreams  of  illusions  ;  his 
fancy  was  abused  with  real  troubles  and  fan- 
tastic images,  imagining  that  he  saw  the  Scyth- 
ians flaying  him  alive,  his  daughters  hke 
pillars  of  fire  dancing  round  about  a  caldron  in 
which  himself  was  boiling,  and  that  his  heart 
accused  itself  to  be  the  cause  of  all  these  evils. 


REAL  AND  APPARENT  HAPPINESS.        179 

Does  not  he  drink  more  sweetly  that  takes 
his  beverage  in  an  earthen  vessel,  than  he  that 
looks  and  searches  into  his  golden  chalices  for 
fear  of  poison,  and  looks  pale  at  every  sudden 
noise,  and  sleeps  in  armor,  and  trusts  nobody, 
and  does  not  trust  God  for  his  safety,  but  does 
greater  wickedness  only  to  escape  awhile  un- 
pimished  for  his  former  crimes  ?  "  Auro  hibi- 
tur  venerium.''^  No  man  goes  about  to  poison  a 
poor  man's  j)itcher,  nor  lays  plots  to  foi'age  his 
little  garden  made  for  the  hospital  of  two  bee- 
hives, and  the  feasting  of  a  few  Pythagorean 
herb-eaters.  They  that  admire  the  happiness 
of  a  prosperous,  prevailing  tyrant,  know  not 
the  fehcities  that  dwell  in  innocent  hearts,  and 
poor  cottages,  and  small  fortunes. 

Can  a  man  bind  a  thought  with  chains,  or 
carry  imaginations  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  ? 
Can  the  beauty  of  the  peacock's  train,  or  the 
ostrich  plume,  be  delicious  to  the  palate  and 
the  throat  ?  Does  the  hand  intermeddle  with 
the  joys  of  the  heart  ?  or  darkness,  that  hides 
the  naked,  make  him  warm  ?  Does  the  body 
live,  as  does  the  spirit  ?  or  can  the  body  of 
Christ  be  like  to  common  food  ?  Indeed  the 
sun  shines  upon  the  good  and  bad  ;  and  the 
vines  give  wine  to  the  drunkard  as  well  as  to 
the  sober  man  ;  pirates  have  fair  winds  and  a 
calm  sea  at  the  same  time  when  the  jxist  and 
peaceful   merchantman    hath   them.      But   al- 


180  MARTYRDOM. 

tliouffh  the  things  of  this  world  are  common  to 
good  and  bad,  yet  sacraments  and  spiritual  joys, 
the  food  of  the  soul,  and  the  blessing  of  Christ, 
are  the  pecuhar  right  of  saints. 


MARTYRDOM. 

THEY  that  suffer  anything  for  Christ,  and 
are   ready   to   die   for   him,  let   them   do 
nothing  against  him.    For  certainly  they  think 
too  highly  of  martyi'dom,  who  believe  it  able  to 
excuse  all  the  evils  of  a  wicked  life.     A  man 
may  give  his  body  to  be  bm-ned,  and  yet  have 
no  charity  ;  and  he  that  dies  without  charity 
dies  without  God:    "for  God  is  love."     And 
when  those  who  fought  in  the  days  of  the  Mac- 
cabees for  the   defence   of  true   religion,  and 
were  killed  in  those  holy  wars,  yet,  being  dead, 
were  found  having  about  their  necks  pendants 
consecrated  to  idols  of  the  Jamnenses ;  it  much 
allayed  the  hope  which,  by  their  dying  in  so 
good  a  cause,  was  entertained  concerning  their 
beatifical  resurrection.     He  that  overcomes  his 
fear  of  death,  does  well ;  but  if  he  hath  not  also 
overcome  his  lust,  or  his  anger,  his  baptism  of 
blood  will  not  wash  him  clean.     Many  things 
make  a  man  wilhng  to  die  in  a  good  cause  : 
public  reputation,  hope  of  reward,  gallantry  of 


MARTYRDOM.  181 

spii-it,  a  confident  resolution,  and  a  masculine 
courage  ;  or  a  man  may  be  vexed  into  a  stub- 
born and  unrelenting  suffering.     But  nothing 
can  make  a  man  live  well  but  the  grace  and 
the  love  of  God.     But  those  persons  are  infi- 
nitely condemned  by  their  last  act,  who  profess 
theii*  religion  to  be  worth  djmg  for,  and  yet 
are  so  unworthy  as  not  to  Hve  according  to  its 
institution.      It  were  a  rare  felicity,  if  every 
good  cause   could   be   managed   by  good  men 
only ;  but  we  have  found  that  evil  men  have 
spoiled  a  good  cause,  but  never  that  a  good 
cause  made  those  evil  men  good  and  holy.     If 
the  governor  of  Samaria  had  crucified  Simon 
Magus  for  receivuig  Christian  baptism,  he  had 
no  more  died  a  martyr  than  he  lived  a  saint. 
For  dying  is  not  enough,  and  dying  in  a  good 
cause  is  not  enough ;  but  then  only  we  receive 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  when   our  death  is 
the  seal  of  our  life,  and  our  life  is  a  continual 
testimony  of  our  dvity,  and  both  give  testimony 
to  the  excellencies  of  the  religion,  and  glorify 
the  grace  of  God.     If  a  man  be  gold,  the  fire 
purges   him  ;  but  it  burns  him  if  he  be  like 
stubble,  cheap,  light,  and  useless.     For  mar- 
tyrdom is  the  consummation  of  love.    But  then 
it  must  be  supposed  that  this  grace  must  have 
had  its  beginning,  and  its  several  stages  and 
periods,  and  must  have  passed  through  labor  to 
zeal,  through  all  the  regions  of  duty  to  the  per- 


182  MARTYRDOM. 

fections  of  sufferings.  And  therefore  it  is  a  sad 
thing  to  observe  how  some  empty  souls  will 
please  themselves  with  being  of  such  a  religion 
or  such  a  cause,  and,  though  they  dishonor 
their  religion,  or  weigh  down  the  cause  with 
the  prejudice  of  sin,  beheve  all  is  swallowed  up 
by  one  honorable  name,  or  the  appellative  of 
one  virtue.  If  God  had  forbid  nothing  but 
heresy  and  treason,  then  to  have  been  a  loyal 
man,  or  of  a  good  belief,  had  been  enough: 
but  he  that  forbade  rebellion  forbids  all  swear- 
ing and  covetousness,  rapine  and  oppression, 
lying  and  cruelty.  And  it  is  a  sad  thing  to 
see  a  man  not  only  to  spend  his  time,  and  his 
wealth,  and  his  money,  and  his  friends  upon  his 
lust,  but  to  spend  his  sufferings  too :  to  let  the 
canker-worm  of  a  deadly  sin  devour  his  mar- 
tyrdom. He  therefore  that  suffers  in  a  good 
cause,  let  him  be  sure  to  walk  worthy  of  that 
honor  to  which  God  hath  called  him ;  let  him 
first  deny  his  sins,  and  then  deny  himself,  and 
then  he  may  take  up  his  cross  and  follow 
Christ ;  ever  remembering  that  no  man  pleases 
God  in  his  death  who  hath  walked  perversely 
in  his  life. 


THE  PROGRESS    OE  SOULS.  183 


THE   PROGRESS   OF   SOULS. 

A  S  the  silk-worm  eateth  itself  out  of  a  seed 
^-*^  to  become  a  little  worm;  and  there  feed- 
ing on  the  leaves  of  mulberries,  it  grows  till  its 
coat  be  off,  and  then  works  itself  into  a  house 
of  silk ;  then  casting  its  pearly  seeds  for  the 
young  to  breed,  it  leaveth  its  silk  for  man,  and 
dieth  all  white  and  winged  in  the  shape  of  a 
flying  creature :  so  is  the  progress  of  souls. 
When  they  are  regenerate  by  baptism,  and 
have  cast  off  their  first  stains  and  the  skin 
of  worldly  vanities  by  feeding  on  the  leaves 
of  scriptures,  and  the  fruits  of  the  vine,  and 
the  joys  of  the  sacrament,  they  encircle  them- 
selves in  the  rich  garments  of  holy  and  virtu- 
ous habits  ;  then  by  leaving  their  blood,  which 
is  the  Church's  seed,  to  raise  up  a  new  gen- 
eration to  God,  they  leave  a  blessed  memory 
and  fair  example,  and  are  themselves  turned 
into  angels,  whose  fehcity  is  to  do  the  will  of 
God,  as  theu-  employment  was  in  this  world  to 
suffer  it. 


184        THE   INEXPERIENCED   CHRISTIAN. 


THE  INEXPERIENCED   CHRISTIAN. 

T^HE  righteous  is  safe  ;  but  by  intermedial 
-^  difficulties :  and  he  is  safe  in  the  midst  of 
his  persecutions  ;  they  may  disturb  his  rest,  and 
discompose  his  fancy,  but  they  are  like  the 
fierv  chariot  to  Elias  ;  he  is  encircled  with  fire, 
and  rare  circumstances,  and  strange  usages,  but 
is  carried  up  to  heaven  in  a  robe  of  flames. 
And  so  was  Noah  safe  when  the  flood  came, 
and  was  the  great  type  and  instance  too  of  the 
verification  of  this  proposition  ;  he  was  put  into 
a  strange  condition,  perpetually  wandering, 
shut  up  in  a  prison  of  wood,  hving  upon  faith, 
having  never  had  the  experience  of  being  safe 
in  floods. 

And  so  have  I  often  seen  young  and  unskil- 
ful persons  sitting  in  a  little  boat,  w^hen  every 
little  wave  sporting  aboxit  the  sides  of  the  ves- 
sel, and  every  motion  and  dancing  of  the  barge 
seemed  a  danger,  and  made  them  cling  fast 
upon  their  fellows  ;  and  yet  all  the  while  they 
were  as  safe  as  if  they  sat  under  a  tree,  while 
a  gentle  wind  shaked  the  leaves  into  a  refresh- 
ment and  a  cooling  shade.  And  the  unskilful, 
inexperienced  Christian  shrieks  out  whenever 
his  vessel  shakes,  thinking  it  always  a  danger 
that  the  watery  pavement  is  not  stable  and  resi- 
dent like  a  rock ;  and  yet  all  his  danger  is  m 


THE  SORROWS  OF   THE   GODLY.  185 

himself,  none  at  all  fi-om  without :  for  he  is 
indeed  moving  upon  the  waters,  but  fastened 
to  a  rock.  Faith  is  his  foundation,  and  hope 
is  his  anchor,  and  death  is  his  harbor,  and 
Christ  is  his  pilot,  and  heaven  is  his  country  ; 
and  all  the  evils  of  poverty,  or  affii'onts  of  tri- 
bunals and  evil  judges,  of  fears  and  sadder  ap- 
prehensions, are  but  like  the  loud  wind  blowing 
from  the  right  point :  they  make  a  noise,  and 
drive  faster  to  the  harbor.  And  if  we  do  not 
leave  the  ship  and  leap  into  the  sea  ;  quit  the 
interests  of  religion,  and  run  to  the  securities 
of  the  world  ;  cut  our  cables,  and  chssolve  our 
hopes ;  grow  impatient,  and  hug  a  wave,  and 
die  in  its  embraces ;  we  are  as  safe  at  sea,  safer 
in  the  storm  which  God  sends  us,  than  in  a 
calm  when  we  are  befriended  with  the  world. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  THE  GODLY. 

O  O  much  as  moments  are  exceeded  by  eter- 
^  nity,  and  the  sighing  of  a  man  by  the  joys 
of  an  angel,  and  a  salutary  frown  by  the  light 
of  God's  countenance,  a  few  groans  by  the 
infinite  and  eternal  hallelujahs ;  so  much  are 
the  sorrows  of  the  godly  to  be  undervalued  in 
respect  of  what  is  deposited  for  them  in  the 
treasures  of  eternity.     Their  sorrows  can  die, 


186  THE  GOODNESS   OF  GOD. 

but  SO  cannot  their  joys.  And  if  the  blessed 
martyrs  and  confessors  were  asked  concerning 
their  past  sufferings  and  their  present  rest,  and 
the  joys  of  their  certain  expectation,  you  should 
hear  them  glory  in  nothing  but  in  the  mercies 
of  God,  and  in  the  cross  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 
Every  chain  is  a  ray  of  light,  and  every  prison 
is  a  palace,  and  every  loss  is  the  purchase  of  a 
kingdom,  and  every  affront  in  the  cause  of  God 
is  an  eternal  honor,  and  every  day  of  sorrow  is 
a  thousand  years  of  comfort,  multiplied  with  a 
never-ceasing  numeration  ;  days  without  night, 
joys  without  sorrow,  sanctity  without  sin, 
charity  without  stain,  possession  without  fear, 
society  without  envying,  communication  of 
joys  without  lessening  :  and  they  shall  dwell 
in  a  blessed  country,  where  an  enemy  never 
entered,  and  from  whence  a  friend  never  went 
away. 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  GOD. 

17R0M  the  beginning  of  time  till  now,  all 
-*-  effluxes  which  have  come  from  God  have 
been  nothing  but  emanations  of  his  goodness 
clothed  in  variety  of  circumstances.  He  made 
man  with  no  other  design  than  that  man  should 
be  happy,  and  by  receiving  derivations  fi'oni 


THE  GOODNESS   OF  GOD.  187 

Ms  fountain  of  mercy,  might  reflect  glory  to 
him.  And  therefore  God  making  man  for  his 
own  glory,  made  also  a  paradise  for  man's  use  ; 
and  did  him  good,  to  invite  him  to  do  himself  a 
greater.  For  God  gave  forth  demonstrations 
of  his  power  by  mstances  of  mercy,  and  he 
who  might  have  made  ten  thousand  w^orlds  of 
wonder  and  prodigy,  and  created  man  with 
faculties  able  only  to  stare  upon  and  admire 
those  miracles  of  mightiness,  did  choose  to 
instance  his  power  in  the  efiiisions  of  mercy, 
that  at  the  same  instant  he  might  represent 
himself  desirable  and  adorable,  in  all  the  capac- 
ities of  amiability  ;  viz :  as  excellent  in  himself, 
and  profitable  to  us.  For  as  the  sun  sends 
forth  a  benign  and  gentle  influence  on  the  seed 
of  plants,  that  it  may  invite  forth  the  active 
and  plastic  power  from  its  recess  and  secrecy, 
that  by  rising  into  the  tallness  and  dimensions 
of  a  tree  it  may  still  receive  a  greater  and  more 
refreshing  mfluence  from  its  foster-father,  the 
prince  of  all  the  bodies  of  light ;  and  in  all 
these  emanations  the  sun  itself  receives  no  ad- 
vantage but  the  honor  of  doing  benefits  :  so 
doth  the  Almighty  Father  of  all  the  creatures  ; 
he  at  first  sends  forth  his  blessings  upon  us, 
that  we  by  using  them  aright  should  make 
ourselves  capable  of  greater  ;  while  the  giving 
glory  to  God,  and  doing  homage  to  him,  are 
nothing  for  his  advantage,  but  only  for  ours  ; 


188  THE   GOODNESS   OF  GOD. 

our  duties  towards  liim  being  like  vapors  as- 
cending from  the  eartli,  not  at  all  to  refresh 
the  region  of  the  clouds,  but  to  return  back  in 
a  fi'uitfril  and  reft-eshing  shower  ;  and  God  cre- 
ated us,  not  that  we  can  increase  his  felicity, 
but  that  he  might  have  a  subject  receptive  of 
felicity  from  him. 

What  a  prodigy  of  favor  is  it  to  us,  that  he 
hath  passed  by  so  many  forms  of  his  creatures, 
and  hath  not  set  us  down  in  the  rank  of  any  of 
them,  till  we  came  to  be  "pawfo  minor es  an- 
gelis^^'  a  little  lower  than  the  angels  ?  and  yet 
from  the  meanest  of  them  God  can  perfect  his 
own  praise.  The  deeps  and  the  snows,  the 
hail  and  the  rain,  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the 
fishes  of  the  sea,  they  can  and  do  glorify  God, 
and  give  him  praise  in  their  capacity.  And  yet 
he  gave  them  no  speech,  no  reason,  no  immor- 
tal spirit,  or  capacity  of  eternal  blessedness. 
But  he  hath  distinguished  us  from  them  by  the 
absolute  issues  of  his  predestination,  and  hath 
given  us  a  lasting  and  eternal  spirit,  excellent 
organs  of  perception,  and  wonderftil  instru- 
ments of  expression,  that  we  may  join  in  con- 
sort with  the  morning-star,  and  bear  a  part  in 
the  chorus  with  the  angels  of  light,  to  sing 
hallelujah  to  the  great  Father  of  men  and 
ano-els. 

The  poorest  person  amongst  us,  besides  the 
blessings    and   graces   already  reckoned,  hath 


THE  DANGER    OF  PROSPERITY.  189 

enough  about  liim,  and  the  accidents  of  every- 
day, to  shame  him  mto  repentance.  Does  not 
God  send  his  angels  to  keep  thee  in  all  thy 
way  ?  Are  not  they  ministering  spirits  sent 
forth  to  wait  upon  thee  as  thy  guard  ?  Art  not 
thou  kept  from  drowning,  from  fi-acture  of 
bones,  fi'om  madness,  from  deformities,  by  the 
riches  of  the  divine  goodness  ?  Tell  the  joints 
of  thy  body,  dost  thou  want  a  finger  ?  and  if 
thou  dost  not  rmderstand  how  great  a  blessing 
that  is,  do  but  remember  how  ill  thou  canst 
spare  the  use  of  it  when  thou  hast  but  a  thorn 
in  it.  The  very  privative  blessings,  the  bless- 
ings of  immunity,  safeguard,  and  integrity, 
which  we  all  enjoy,  deserve  a  thanksgiving  of 
a  whole  life.  If  God  should  send  a  cancer 
upon  thy  face,  or  a  wolf  into  thy  breast,  if  he 
should  spread  a  crust  of  leprosy  upon  thy  skin, 
what  wouldest  thou  give  to  be  but  as  now  thou 
art  ?  Wouldest  not  thou  repent  of  thy  sins 
upon  that  condition  ?  Which  is  the  greater 
blessing,  —  to  be  kept  ft'om  them,  or  to  be 
cured  of  them  ? 


I 


THE  DANGER  OF  PROSPERITY. 

N  the  tomb  of  Terentia  certain  lamps  burned 
under-groimd  many  ages  together ;   but  as 


190  MERCY  AND  JUDGMENT. 

soon  as  ever  thev  were  brought  into  the  air, 
and  saw  a  bigger  hght,  they  went  out,  never  to 
be  reenkindled.  So  long  as  we  are  in  the  re- 
tirements of  sorrow,  of  want,  of  fear,  of  sick- 
ness, or  of  any  sad  accident,  we  are  "  burning 
and  shining  lamps  "  ;  but  when  God  comes 
with  his  forbearance,  and  lifts  us  up  from  the 
gates  of  death,  and  carries  us  abroad  into  the 
open  air,  that  we  converse  with  prosperity  and 
temptation,  we  go  out  in  darkness  ;  and  we 
cannot  be  preserved  in  heat  and  light  but  by 
still  dwellmg  in  the  regions  of  sorrow. 


MERCY  AND  JUDGMENT. 

TF  God  suffers  men  to  go  on  in  sins,  and 
^  punishes  them  not,  it  is  not  a  mercy,  it  is 
not  a  forbearance  ;  it  is  a  hardening  them,  a 
consigning  them  to  ruin  and  reprobation  :  and 
themselves  give  the  best  argument  to  prove  it ; 
for  they  continue  in  their  sin,  they  multiply 
their  iniquity,  and  every  day  grow  more  an 
enemy  to  God ;  and  that  is  no  mercy  that  in- 
creases their  hostility  and  enmity  with  God. 
A  prosperous  iniquity  is  the  most  unprosperous 
condition  in  the  whole  world.  "  When  he  slew 
them,  they  sought  him,  and  turned  them  early, 
and  inquired  after  God  "  :  but  as  long  as  they 


MERCY  AND  JUDGMENT.  191 

prevailed  upon  their  enemies,  "  they  foroot 
that  God  was  their  strength,  and  the  high  God 
was  their  redeemer."  It  was  well  observed 
by  the  Persian  ambassador  of  old,  —  when  he 
was  telling  the  king  a  sad  story  of  the  over- 
throw of  all  his  army  by  the  Athenians,  he 
adds  this  of  his  own,  —  that  the  day  before  the 
fight,  the  young  Persian  gallants,  being  confi- 
dent they  should  destroy  their  enemies,  were 
drinking  drunk,  and  railing  at  the  timorousness 
and  fears  of  rehgion,  and  against  all  their  gods, 
saying  there  were  no  such  things,  and  that  all 
things  came  by  chance  and  industry,  nothing 
by  the  providence  of  the  Supreme  Power. 
But  the  next  day,  when  they  had  fought  un- 
prosperously,  and  flying  from  their  enemies, 
who  were  eager  in  their  pursuit,  they  came  to 
the  river  Stiymon,  which  was  so  frozen  that 
their  boats  could  not  laimch,  and  yet  it  began 
to  thaw,  so  that  they  feared  the  ice  would  not 
bear  them ;  then  you  should  see  the  bold  gal- 
lants, that  the  day  before  said  there  was  no 
God,  most  timorously  and  superstitiously  fall 
upon  their  faces,  and  beg  of  God  that  the 
river  Strymon  might  bear  them  over  from  their 
enemies. 

What  wisdom  and  philosophy,  and  perpetual 
experience  and  revelation,  and  promises  and 
blessings  cannot  do,  a  mighty  fear  can  ;  it  can 
allay  the  confidences  of  bold  lust  and  imperious 


192  MERCY  AND  JUDGMENT. 

sin,  and  soften  our  spirit  into  the  lowness  of  a 
child,  our  revenge  into  the  charity  of  prayers, 
our  impudence  into  the  blushings  of  a  chidden 
girl;  and  therefore  God  hath  taken  a  course 
proportionable  :  for  he  is  not  so  unmercifully 
merciful  as  to  give  milk  to  an  infirm  lust,  and 
hatch  the  egg  to  the  bigness  of  a  cockatrice. 
And  therefore  observe  how  it  is  that  God's 
mercy  prevails  over  all  his  works.  It  is  even 
then  when  nothing  can  be  discerned  but  his 
judgments.  For  as  when  a  famine  had  been 
in  Israel  in  the  days  of  Ahab  for  three  years 
and  a  half,  when  the  angry  prophet  Elijah  met 
the  king,  and  presently  a  great  wind  arose,  and 
the  dust  blew  into  the  eyes  of  them  that  walked 
abroad,  and  the  face  of  the  heavens  was  black 
and  all  tempest,  yet  then  the  prophet  was  the 
most  gentle,  and  God  began  to  forgive,  and 
the  heavens  were  more  beautiful  than  when  the 
sun  puts  on  the  brightest  ornaments  of  a  bride- 
groom, going  from  his  chambers  of  the  east: 
so  it  is  in  the  economy  of  the  divine  mercy ; 
when  God  makes  our  faces  black,  and  the 
\%ands  blow  so  loud  till  the  cordage  cracks, 
and  our  gay  fortunes  spHt,  and  our  houses 
are  dressed  with  cypress  and  yew,  and  the 
mourners  go  about  the  streets,  this  is  nothing 
but  the  '■'■  pompa  misericordice,^^ — this  is  the 
funeral  of  our  sins,  dressed  indeed  with  em- 
blems of  mournmg,  and  proclaimed  with  sad 


MERCY  AND  JUDGMENT.  193 

accents  of  death  ;  but  the  sight  is  refreshing 
as  the  beauties  of  the  field  which  God  had 
blessed,  and  the  somids  are  healthfiil  as  the 
noise  of  a  physician. 

But  however  we  sleep  in  the  midst  of  such 
alanns,  yet  know  that  there  is  not  one  death  in 
all  the  neighborhood  but  is  intended  to  thee  ; 
every  crowing  of  the  cock  is  to  awake  thee  to 
repentance.  And  if  thou  sleepest  still,  the  next 
turn  may  be  thine  ;  God  will  send  his  angel,  as 
he  did  to  Peter,  and  smite  thee  on  thy.  side, 
and  awake  thee  from  thy  dead  sleep  of  sin 
and  sottishness.  But  beyond  this  some  are 
despisers  still,  and  hope  to  drown  the  noises 
of  Momit  Sinai,  the  sound  of  cannons,  of  thmi- 
ders  and  lightnings,  with  a  counter-noise  of 
revelling  and  clamorous  roarings,  with  merry 
meetmgs  ;  hke  the  sacrifices  to  Moloch,  they 
sound  drums  and  trumpets  that  they  might  not 
hear  the  sad  shriekings  of  their  children  as  they 
were  dying  in  the  cavity  of  the  brazen  idol. 
And  when  their  conscience  shrieks  out  or  mur- 
murs in  a  sad  melancholy,  or  somethmg  that  is 
dear  to  them  is  smitten,  they  attempt  to  drown 
it  in  a  sea  of  drink,  in  the  heathenish  noises  of 
idle  and  drunken  company ;  and  that  which 
God  sends  to  lead  them  to  repentance  leads 
them  to  a  tavern,  not  to  refresh  their  needs  of 
nature,  or  for  ends  of  a  tolerable  civility,  or  in- 
nocent purposes,  but,  like  the  condemned  per- 
is 


194  PRIMITIVE  PIETY. 

sons  among  the  Levantines,  they  tasted  wine 
freely  that  they  might  die  and  be  insensible. 

He  that  is  fnll  of  stripes  and  troubles,  and 
decked  round  about  with  thorns,  he  is  near  to 
God.  Bvit  he  that,  because  he  sits  uneasily 
when  he  sits  near  the  King  that  was  crowned 
with  thorns,  shall  remove  thence,  or  strew 
flowers,  roses  and  jessamine,  the  down  of  this- 
tles and  the  softest  gossamer,  that  he  may  die 
without  pain,  die  quietly  and  like  a  lamb,  sink 
to  the  bottom  of  hell  without  noise  ;  this  man 
is  a  fool,  because  he  accepts  death  if  it  arrests 
him  in  civil  language,  is  content  to  die  by  the 
sentence  of  an  eloquent  judge,  and  prefers  a 
quiet  passage  to  hell  before  going  to  heaven 
in  a  storm. 


PRIMITIVE   PIETY. 

T7t7HEN  Christianity,  like  the  day-spring  from 
*  *  the  east,  with  a  new  light  did  not  only 
enlighten  the  world,  but  amazed  the  minds 
of  men,  and  entertained  their  curiosities,  and 
seized  upon  their  warmer  and  more  pregnant 
affections,  it  was  no  wonder  that  whole  nations 
were  converted  at  a  sermon,  and  multitudes 
were  instantly  professed,  and  their  understand- 
ings followed  then-  affections,  and  their  wills 


PRIMITIVE  PIETY.  195 

followed  tlieir  understandings,  and  they  were 
convinced  by  miracle,  and  overcome  by  grace, 
and  passionate  with  zeal,  and  wisely  governed 
by  their  guides,  and  ravished  with  the  sanctity 
of  the  doctrine  and  the  holiness  of  their  exam- 
ples. And  this  was  not  only  their  duty,  but 
a  great  instance  of  providence,  that  by  the 
great  rehgion  and  piety  of  the  first  professors, 
Christianity  might  be  finnly  planted,  and  un- 
shaken by  scandal,  and  hardened  by  persecu- 
tion; and  that  these  first  lights  might  be  ac- 
tual precedents  forever,  and  copies  for  us  to 
transcribe  in  all  descending  ages  of  Christian- 
itv,  that  thither  we  midit  run  to  fetch  oU  to 
enkindle  our  extinguished  lamps. 

Men  of  old  looked  upon  themselves  as  they 
stood  by  the  examples  and  precedents  of  mar- 
tyrs, and  compared  their  piety  to  the  life  of  St. 
Paul,  and  estimated  their  zeal  by  flames  of  the 
Boanerges,  St.  James  and  his  brother ;  and 
the  bishops  were  thought  reprovable  as  they 
fell  short  of  the  ordinary  government  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  John  ;  and  the  assemblies  of 
Christians  were  so  holy  that  every  meeting  had 
religion  enough  to  hallow  a  house  and  convert 
it  to  a  church  ;  and  every  day  of  feasting  was 
a  communion ;  and  every  fasting-day  was  a 
day  of  repentance  and  alms  ;  and  every  day 
of  thanksgiving  was  a  day  of  joy  and  alms ; 
and  religion  began  all  their  actions,  and  prayer 


196  GROWTH  IN  GRACE. 

consecrated  them ;  and  they  ended  in  charity 
and  were  not  polluted  with  design :  they  de- 
spised the  world  heartily  and  pursued  after 
heaven  greedily  ;  they  knew  no  ends  but  to 
serve  God  and  to  be  saved ;  and  had  no  de- 
signs upon  their  neighbors  but  to  lead  them 
to  God  and  to  felicity. 


GROWTH   IN   GRACE. 

A  MAN  cannot,  after  a  state  of  sin,  be  in- 
■^-^  stantly  a  saint ;  the  work  of  heaven  is  not 
done  by  a  flash  of  lightnmg,  or  a  dash  of  affec- 
tionate rain,  or  a  few  tears  of  a  relenting  pity. 
Remember  that  God  sent  you  into  the  world 
for  religion  :  we  are  but  to  pass  through  our 
pleasant  fields  or  our  hard  labors,  but  to  lodge 
a  little  while  in  our  fair  palaces  or  our  meaner 
cottages,  but  to  bait  in  the  way  at  our  full 
tables  or  with  our  spare  diet;  but  then  only 
man  does  his  proper  employment  when  he 
prays,  and  does  charity,  and  mortifies  his  im- 
ruly  appetites,  and  restrains  his  violent  pas- 
sions, and  becomes  like  to  God,  and  imitates 
his  holy  Son,  and  writes  after  the  copies  of 
apostles  and  saints. 

The  canes  of  Egypt,  when  they  newly  arise 
from  their  bed  of  mud  and  slime  of  Nilus,  start 


GROWTH  IN  GRACE.  197 

up  into  an  equal  and  continual  length,  and  are 
interi'upted  but  Avith  few  knots,  and  are  strong 
and  beauteous  with  great  distances  and  inter- 
vals :  but  when  they  are  grown  to  their  full 
length,  they  lessen  into  the  point  of  a  pyramid, 
and  multiply  their  knots  and  joints,  interrupt- 
ing the  fineness  and  smoothness  of  its  body. 
So  are  the  steps  and  declensions  of  him  that 
does  not  grow  in  grace.  At  first,  when  he 
springs  up  from  his  impimty  by  the  waters 
of  baptism  and  repentance,  he  grows  straight 
and  strong,  and  suffers  but  few  interruptions 
of  piety ;  and  his  constant  courses  of  rehgion 
are  but  rarely  intermitted,  till  they  ascend  up 
to  a  full  age,  or  towards  the  ends  of  their  life  ; 
then  they  are  weak,  and  their  devotions  often 
inteiTnitted,  and  their  breaches  are  frequent, 
and  they  seek  excuses  and  labor  for  dispen- 
sations, and  love  God  and  rehgion  less  and 
less,  till  their  old  age,  instead  of  a  crown  of 
their  virtue  and  perseverance,  ends  in  levity 
and  unprofitable  courses ;  light  and  useless  as 
the  tufted  feathers  upon  the  cane,  every  wind 
can  play  with  it  and  abuse  it,  but  no  man  can 
make  it  useful.  When,  therefore,  our  piety 
interrupts  its  greater  and  more  solemn  ex- 
pressions, and  upon  the  return  of  the  greater 
offices  and  biffffer  solemnities  we  find  them 
to  come  iipon  our  spirits  like  the  wave  of  a 
tide,  w^iich  retired  only  because  it  was  natural 


198  GROWTH  IN  GRACE. 

SO  to  do,  and  yet  came  farther  upon  the  strand 
at  the  next  roUing;  when  every  new  confes- 
sion, every  succeedmg  communion,  every  time 
of  separation  for  more  solemn  and  intense 
prayer  is  better  spent  and  more  affectionate, 
leaving  a  greater  relish  upon  the  spirit,  and 
possessing  greater  portions  of  our  aflPections, 
our  reason  and  our  choice ;  then  we  may 
give  God  thanks,  who  hath  given  us  more 
grace  to  use  that  grace,  and  a  blessing  to  en- 
deavor our  duty,  and  a  blessing  upon  our  en- 
deavor. 

In  all  cases,  the  well-grown  Christian,  he 
that  improves  or  goes  forward  in  his  way  to 
heaven,  brings  virtue  forth,  not  into  discourses 
and  panegyrics,  but  into  his  life  and  manners. 
His  virtue,  although  it  serves  many  good  ends 
accidentally,  yet,  by  his  intention,  it  only  sup- 
presses his  inordinate  passions,  makes  him  tem- 
perate and  chaste,  casts  out  his  devils  of  drunk- 
enness and  lust,  pride  and  rage,  malice  and  re- 
venge ;  it  makes  him  useful  to  his  brother,  and 
a  servant  of  God.  And  although  these  flowers 
cannot  choose  but  please  his  eye  and  delight 
his  smell,  yet  he  chooses  to  gather  honey,  and 
lick  up  the  dew  of  heaven,  and  feasts  his  spirit 
upon  the  manna,  and  dwells  not  in  the  collat- 
eral usages  and  accidental  sweetnesses  which 
dwell  at  the  gates  of  other  senses  ;  but,  like 
a  bee,  loads  his  thighs  with  wax  and  his  bag 


GROWTH  IN  SIN.  199 

with  honey,  that  is,  with  the  useful  parts  of 
virtue,  in  order  to  hohness  and  felicity. 

Though  the  great  physician  of  our  souls  hath 
mingled  profits  and  pleasures  with  virtue,  to 
make  its  chalice  sweet  and  apt  to  be  drank  off; 
yet  he  that  takes  out  the  sweet  ingredient  and 
feasts  his  palate  with  the  less  wholesome  part 
because    it   is    delicious,  serves  a  low  end    of 
sense  or  interest,  but   serves   not  God  at  all, 
and  as  little  does  benefit  to  his  soul.      Such 
a  person  is  like  Homer's  bu-d,  deplumes  him- 
self to  feather  all  the  naked  callows  that  he 
sees ;  and  holds  a  taper  that  may  light  others 
to  heaven,  while  he  burns  his  own  fingers.    But 
a  well-grown  person,  out  of  habit  and  choice, 
out  of  love  and  -sartue  and  just  intention,  goes 
on  his  journey  in  straight  ways  to  heaven,  even 
when  the  bridle  and  coercion  of  laws,  or  the 
spurs  of  interest  or  reputation  are  laid  aside  ; 
and  desires  witnesses  of  his  actions,  not  that  he 
may  advance  his  fame,  but  for  reverence  and 
fear,  and  to  make  it  still  more  necessary  to  do 
holy  things. 


GROWTH  IN  SIN. 


WHEN"    we    see    a  child   strike    a   servant 
rudely,  or  jeer  a  silly  person,  or  wittingly 


200  GROWTH  IN  SIN. 

cheat  his  playfellow,  or  talk  words  light  as  the 
skirt  of  a  summer  garment,  we  laugh  and  are 
deliffhted  with  the  wit  and  confidence  of  the 
boy,  and  encourage  such  hopefal  beginnings ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  we  consider  not  that  from 
these  beginnings  he  shall  grow  up  till  he  be- 
come a  tyrant,  an  oppressor,  a  goat,  and  a 
traitor.  No  man  is  discerned  to  be  vicious 
so  soon  as  he  is  so ;  and  vices  have  their 
infancy  and  their  childhood ;  and  it  cannot 
be  expected  that  in  a  child's  age  should  be 
the  vice  of  a  man  ;  that  were  monstrous,  as 
if  he  wore  a  beard  in  his  cradle ;  and  we  do 
not  believe  that  a  serpent's  sting  does  just 
then  grow  when  he  strikes  us  in  a  vital  part ; 
the  venom  and  the  little  spear  was  there  when 
it  first  began  to  creep  from  his  little  shell. 

For  so  have  I  seen  the  little  purls  of  a  spring 
sweat  through  the  bottom  of  a  bank  and  inten- 
erate  the  stubborn  pavement,  till  it  hath  made 
it  fit  for  the  impression  of  a  child's  foot ;  and  it 
was  despised,  like  the  descending  pearls  of  a 
misty  morning,  till  it  had  opened  its  way  and 
made  a  stream  large  enough  to  carry  away  the 
ruins  of  the  undermined  strand,  and  to  invade 
the  neighboring  gardens :  but  then  the  despised 
drops  were  grown  into  an  artificial  river  and  an 
intolerable  mischief.  So  are  the  first  entrances 
of  sin  stopped  with  the  antidotes  of  a  hearty 
prayer,  and  checked  into  sobriety  by  the  eye 


GROWTH  IN  SIN.  201 

of  a  reverend  man,  or  tlie  counsels  of  a  single 
sermon  :  but  when  such  beginnino-s  are  nes:- 
lected,  and  our  religion  hath  not  in  it  so 
much  philosophy  as  to  think  anything  evil  as 
long  as  we  can  endure  it,  they  grow  up  to 
ulcers  and  pestilential  evils  ;  they  destroy  the 
soul  by  then'  abode,  who  at  their  first  entry 
might  have  been  killed  with  the  pressure  of 
a  httle  finger. 

I  wish  we  hved  in  an  age  in  which  the 
people  were  to  be  treated  with  concerning  re- 
nouncing the  single  actions  of  sin,  and  the  sel- 
dom interruptions  of  piety.  Certain  it  is,  that 
God  hath  given  us  precepts  of  such  a  holiness 
and  such  a  purity,  such  a  meekness  and  such 
humility,  as  hath  no  pattern  but  Christ,  no  prec- 
edent but  the  pui'ities  of  God :  and  therefore  it 
is  intended  we  should  live  with  a  life  whose 
actions  are  not  checkered  with  white  and  black, 
half  sin  and  half  virtue.  God's  sheep  are  not 
like  Jacob's  flock,  streaked  and  spotted ;  it  is 
an  entire  holiness  that  God  requires,  and  will 
not  endure  to  have  a  holy  course  interrupted 
by  the  dishonor  of  a  base  and  ignoble  action. 
I  do  not  mean  that  a  man's  life  can  be  as  pure 
as  the  sun,  or  the  rays  of  celestial  eJerusalem; 
but  like  the  moon,  in  which  there  are  spots, 
but  they  are  no  deformity ;  a  lessening  only 
and  an  abatement  of  light,  no  cloud  to  hinder 
and  draw  a  veil  before  its  face,  but  sometimes 


202  GROWTH  IN  SIN. 

it   is   not   so   serene    and   bright   as   at   other 
times. 

Every  man  hath  his  indiscretions  and  infir- 
mities, his  arrests  and  sudden  incursions,  his 
neighborhoods  and  semblances  of  sin,  his  Httle 
violences  to  reason,  and  peevish  melancholy, 
and  humorous  fantastic  discourses,  unaptness 
to  a  devout  prayer,  his  fondness  to  judge  fa- 
vorable in  his  own  cases,  little  deceptions,  and 
voluntary  and  involuntary  cozenages,  ignoran- 
ces and  inadvertencies,  careless  hours  and  un- 
watchful  seasons.  But  no  good  man  can  ever 
commit  one  act  of  adultery  ;  no  godly  man  will, 
at  any  time,  be  drunk  ;  or  if  he  be,  he  ceases 
to  be  a  godly  man,  and  is  run  into  the  confines 
of  death,  and  is  sick  at  heart,  and  may  die  of 
the  sickness,  die  eternally.  This  happens  more 
frequently  in  persons  of  an  infant  piety,  when 
the  virtue  is  not  corroborated  by  a  long  abode, 
and  a  confinned  resolution,  and  an  usual  vic- 
tory, and  a  triumphant  grace :  and  the  longer 
we  are  accustomed  to  piety,  the  more  unfre- 
quent  will  be  the  little  breaches  of  folly,  and  a 
returning  to  sin.  But  as  the  needle  of  a  com- 
pass, when  it  is  directed  to  its  beloved  star,  at 
the  first  addresses  waves  on  either  side,  and 
seems  indiflFerent  in  his  courtship  of  the  rising 
or  declining  stm,  and  when  it  seems  first  deter- 
mined to  the  north,  stands  awhile  trembling,  as 
if  it  suffered  inconvenience  in  the  first  fruition 


GROWTH  IN  SIN.  203 

of  its  desires,  and  stands  not  still  in  full  enjoy- 
ment till  after  first  a  great  variety  of  motion, 
and  then  in  an  undistui'bed  posture  :  so  is 
the  piety  and  so  is  the  conversion  of  a  man 
wrought  by  degrees  and  several  steps  of  imper- 
fection :  and  at  first  our  choices  are  wavering, 
convinced  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  yet  not  per- 
suaded ;  and  then  persuaded,  but  not  resolved  ; 
and  then  resolved,  but  deferring  to  begin  ;  and 
then  beginning,  but  (as  all  beginnings  are)  in 
weakness  and  uncertainty  ;  and  we  fly  out 
often  into  huge  indiscretions  and  look  back 
to  Sodom,  and  long  to  return  to  Eg\iDt :  and 
when  the  storm  is  quite  over,  we  find  little  bub- 
blings  and  unevennesses  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters,  —  we  often  weaken  our  own  purposes 
by  the  returns  of  sin ;  and  we  do  not  call  our- 
selves conquerors,  till  by  the  long  possession  of 
virtues  it  is  a  strange  and  miusual,  and  therefore 
an  uneasy  and  unpleasant  tiling,  to  act  a  crime. 

He  that  hath  passed  many  stages  of  a  good 
life,  to  prevent  his  being  tempted  to  a  single 
sin,  must  be  very  careful  that  he  never  enter- 
tain his  spirit  with  the  remembrances  of  his  past 
sin,  nor  amuse  it  with  the  fantastic  apprehen- 
sions of  the  present.  When  the  Israelites  fan- 
cied the  sapidness  and  relish  of  the  fleshpots, 
they  longed  to  taste  and  to  return. 

So  when  a  Lvbian  tio-er,  drawn  from  his 
wilder  foragings,  is  shut  up  and  taught  to  eat 


204  GROWTH  IN  SIN. 

civil  meat,  and  suffer  the  authority  of  a  man, 
he  sits  down  tamely  in  his  prison,  and  pays  to 
his    keeper   fear  and   reverence    for  his  meat. 
But  if  he  cliance  to  come   again  and  taste  a 
draught  of  warm  blood,  he  presently  leaps  into 
his  natural  cruelty.     He  scarce  abstains  from 
eating  those  hands  that  brought  him  discipline 
and  food.      So  is  the  nature  of  a  man  made 
tame  and  gentle  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  re- 
duced to  reason,  and  kept  in  awe  by  religion 
and  laAvs,  and  by  an  awftil  virtue  is  taught  to 
forget  those  alluring  and  sottish  relishes  of  sin. 
But  if  he  diverts  from  his  path,  and  snatches 
handfuls  from  the  wanton  vineyards,  and  re- 
members the  lasciviousness  of  his  unwholesome 
food  that  pleased  his    childish  palate,  then  he 
grows  sick  again  and   hungry  after   unwhole- 
some diet,  and  longs  for  the  apples  of  Sodom. 
A  man  must  walk  through  the  world  without 
eyes  or  ears,  fancy  or  appetite,  but  such  as  are 
created  and  sanctified    by  the  grace  of  God ; 
and   being   once    made  a  new  man,  he    must 
serve  all  the  needs  of  nature  by  the  appetites 
and  faculties  of  grace  ;  nature  must  be  wholly 
a  servant:   and  we  must  so  look  towards  the 
deliciousness  of  our  religion    and   the    ravish- 
ments  of  heaven,  that    our   memory  must  be 
forever   useless   to  the  affairs  and  perceptions 
of  sin.      We    cannot    stand,    we    cannot   live, 
unless  we  be  curious  and  watchful  in  this  par- 
ticular. 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS.  205 

Every  delay  of  return  is,  in  the  case  of 
habitual  sins,  an  approach  to  desperation,  be- 
cause the  nature  of  habits  is  hke  that  of  the 
crocodiles,  they  grow  as  long  as  they  Hve  ;  and 
if  they  come  to  obstinacy  or  confirmation,  they 
are  in  hell  already,  and  can  never  return  back. 
For  so  the  Pannonian  bears,  when  thev  have 
clasped  a  dart  in  the  region  of  their  liver, 
wheel  themselves  upon  the  wound,  and  with 
anger  and  maUcious  revenge  strike  the  deadly 
barb  deeper,  and  cannot  be  quit  from  that  fatal 
steel,  but,  in  flying,  bear  along  that  which  them- 
selves make  the  instrument  of  a  more  hasty 
death.  So  is  every  vicious  person  struck  with 
a  deadly  wound,  and  his  own  hands  force  it 
into  the  entertainments  of  the  heart ;  and  be- 
cause it  is  painful  to  draw  it  forth  by  a  sharp 
and  salutary  repentance,  he  still  rolls  and  turns 
upon  his  woimd,  and  carries  his  death  in  his 
bowels,  where  it  first  entered  by  choice,  and 
then  dwelt  by  love,  and  at  last  shall  finish  the 
tragedy  by  divine  judgments  and  an  unalterable 
decree. 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS. 

SUPPOSE  a  man  gets  all  the  world,  what 
^  is  it  that  he  gets?  It  is  a  bubble  and  a 
phantasm,  and  hath  no  reality  beyond  a  pres- 


206  WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS. 

ent  transient  use  ;  a  thing  that  is  impossible  to 
be  enjoyed,  because  its  fruits  and  usages  are 
transmitted  to  us  by  parts  and  by  succession. 
He  that  hath  all  the  world,  (if  we  can  suppose 
such  a  man,)  cannot  have  a  dish  of  fresh  sum- 
mer fruits  in  the  midst  of  winter,  not  so  much 
as  a  green  fig :  and  very  much  of  its  possessions 
is  so  hid,  so  fugacious  and  of  so  uncertain  pur- 
chase, that  it  is  like  the  riches  of  the  sea  to  the 
lord  of  the  shore  ;  all  the  fish  and  wealth  within 
all  its  hollownesses  are  his,  but  he  is  never  the 
better  for  what  he  cannot  get.  All  the  shell- 
fish that  produce  pearl,  produce  them  not  for 
him  ;  and  the  bowels  of  the  earth  shall  hide 
her  treasures  in  undiscovered  retirements.  So 
that  it  will  signify  as  much  to  this  great  pvxr- 
chaser  to  be  entitled  to  an  inheritance  in  the 
upper  region  of  the  air  ;  he  is  so  far  from  pos- 
sessino;  all  its  riches,  that  he  does  not  so  much 
as  know  of  them,  nor  understand  the  philosophy 
of  her  minerals. 

I  consider,  that  he  that  is  the  greatest  pos- 
sessor in  the  world,  enjoys  its  best  and  most 
noble  parts,  and  those  which  are  of  most  excel- 
lent perfection,  but  in  common  with  the  inferior 
persons  and  the  most  despicable  of  his  king- 
dom. Can  the  greatest  prince  enclose  the 
sun  and  set  one  httle  star  in  his  cabinet  for 
his  own  use  ?  Or  secure  to  himself  the  gentle 
and  benign  influences  of  any  one  constellation  ? 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS.  207 

Are  not  his  subjects'  fields  bedewed  with  the 
same  showers  that  water  his  gardens  of  pleas- 
ure? / 

Nay,  those  things  which  he  esteems  his  orna- 
ment and  the  singularity  of  his  possessions,  are 
they  not  of  more  use  to  others  than  to  himself? 
For  suppose  his  garments  splendid  and  shining 
like  the  robe  of  a  cherub  or  the  clothing  of  the 
fields,  all  that  he  that  wears  them  enjoys,  is, 
that  they  keep  him  warm  and  clean  and  mod- 
est ;  and  all  this  is  done  by  clean  and  less  pom- 
pous vestments ;  and  the  beauty  of  them,  which 
distinguishes  him  from  others,  is  made  to  please 
the  eyes  of  the  beholders  ;  and  he  is  like  a  fair 
bird,  or  the  meretricious  painting  of  a  wanton 
woman,  made  wholly  to  be  looked  on,  that  is, 
to  be  enjoyed  by  every  one  but  himself.  And 
the  fairest  face  and  the  sparkling  eye  cannot 
perceive  or  enjoy  their  own  beauties,  but  by 
reflection.  It  is  I  that  am  pleased  with  behold- 
ing his  gayety,  and  the  gay  man  in  his  greatest 
bravery  is  only  pleased  because  I  am  pleased 
with  the  sight ;  so  borrowing  his  little  and  im- 
aginary complacency  from  the  delight  that  I 
have,  not  from  any  inherency  of  his  own  pos- 
session. 

The  poorest  artisan  of  Rome,  walking  in 
Caesar's  gardens,  had  the  same  pleasures  which 
they  ministered  to  their  lord.  And  although 
it  may  be  he  was  put  to  gather  fruits  to  eat 


208  WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS. 

from  another  place,  yet  his  other  senses  were 
dehghted  equally  with  Caesar's.  The  birds 
made  him  as  good  music,  the  flowers  gave  him 
as  sweet  smells,  he  there  sucked  as  good  air, 
and  delighted  in  the  beauty  and  order  of  the 
place,  for  the  same  reason  and  upon  the  same 
perception  as  the  prince  himself;  save  only 
that  Cffisar  paid  for  all  that  pleasure  vast  sums 
of  money,  the  blood  and  treasure  of  a  province, 
which  the  poor  man  had  for  nothing. 

Suppose  a  man  lord  of  all  the  world,  (for 
still  we  are  but  in  supposition,)  yet  since  every- 
thino;  is  received  not  according  to  its  own 
greatness  and  worth,  but  according  to  the  ca- 
pacity of  the  receiver,  it  signifies  very  little  as 
to  our  content,  or  to  the  riches  of  our  posses- 
sion. If  any  man  should  give  to  a  lion  a  fair 
meadow  full  of  hay,  or  a  thousand  quince- 
trees  ;  or  should  give  to  the  goodly  bull,  the 
master  and  the  fairest  of  the  whole  herd,  a 
thousand  fair  stags  ;  if  a  man  should  present  to 
a  child  a  ship  laden  with  Persian  carpets,  and 
the  ingredients  of  the  rich  scarlet ;  all  these, 
being  disproportionate  either  to  the  appetite  or 
to  the  understanding,  could  add  nothing  of 
content,  and  might  declare  the  freeness  of  the 
presenter,  but  they  upbraid  the  incapacity  of 
the  receiver.  And  so  it  does  if  God  should 
give  the  whole  world  to  any  man.  He  knows 
not  what  to  do  with  it ;  he  can  use  no  more 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS.  209 

but  according  to  the  capacities  of  a  man ;  he 
can  use  nothing  but  meat  and  drink  and 
clothes ;  and  infinite  riches,  that  can  give  him 
changes  of  raiment  every  day  and  a  full  table, 
do  but  give  him  a  clean  trencher  every  bit  he 
eats  ;  it  signifies  no  more  but  wantonness,  and 
variety  to  the  same,  not  to  new  purposes. 

He  to  whom  the  world  can  be  given  to  any 
purpose  gi'eater  than  a  private  estate  can  min- 
ister, must  have  new  capacities  created  in  him : 
he  needs  the  understanding  of  an  angel,  to 
take  the  accounts  of  his  estate ;  he  had  need 
have  a  stomach  like  fire  or  the  grave,  for  else 
he  can  eat  no  more  than  one  of  his  healthful 
subjects ;  and  unless  he  hath  an  eye  like  the 
sun,  and  a  motion  like  that  of  a  thought,  and  a 
bulk  as  big  as  one  of  the  orbs  of  heaven,  the 
pleasure  of  his  eye  can  be  no  greater  than  to 
behold  the  beauty  of  a  little  prospect  from  a 
hill,  or  to  look  upon  the  heap  of  gold  packed 
up  in  a  httle  room,  or  to  dote  upon  a  cabinet 
of  jewels,  better  than  which  there  is  no  man 
that  sees  at  all  but  sees  every  day.  For,  not 
to  name  the  beauties  and  sparkling  diamonds 
of  heaven,  a  man's,  or  a  woman's,  or  a  hawk's 
eye  is  more  beauteous  and  excellent  than  all 
the  jewels  of  his  crown.  And  when  we  re- 
member that  a  beast,  who  hath  quicker  senses 
than  a  man,  yet  hath  not  so  great  delight  in 
the  fruition  of  any  object,  because  he  wants 

14 


210  WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS. 

understanding,  and  the  power  to  make  reflex 
acts  upon  his  perception  ;  it  will  follow,  that 
understanding  and  knowledge  is  the  greatest 
instrument  of  pleasure,  and  he  that  is  most 
knowing  hath  a  capacity  to  become  happy, 
which  a  less  knowing  prince  or  a  rich  person 
hath  not ;  and  in  this  only  a  man's  capacity  is 
capable  of  enlargement.  But  then,  although 
they  only  have  power  to  relish  any  pleasure 
rightly,  who  rightly  understand  the  nature  and 
degrees,  and  essences,  and  ends  of  things  ;  yet 
they  that  do  so,  understand  also  the  vanity  and 
the  unsatisfyingness  of  the  things  of  this  world, 
so  that  the  relish  which  could  not  be  great  but 
in  a  great  understanding,  appears  contemptible, 
because  its  vanity  appears  at  the  same  time  ; 
the  understanding  sees  all,  and  sees  through  it. 
The  greatest  vanity  of  this  world  is  remark- 
able in  this,  that  all  its  joys  summed  up  to- 
gether are  not  big  enough  to  counterpoise  the 
evil  of  one  sharp  disease,  or  to  allay  a  sorrow. 
For  imagine  a  man  great  in  his  dominion  as 
Cyrus,  rich  as  Solomon,  victorious  as  David, 
beloved  like  Titus,  learned  as  Trismegist,  pow- 
erful as  all  the  Roman  greatness ;  all  this,  and 
the  results  of  all  this,  give  him  no  more  pleas- 
ure in  the  midst  of  a  fever  or  the  tortures  of 
the  stone,  than  if  he  were  only  lord  of  a  little 
dish,  and  a  dishful  of  fountain-water.  Indeed 
the  excellency  of  a  holy  conscience  is  a  comfort 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS.  211 

and  a  magazine  of  joy,  so  great,  that  it  sweet- 
ens the  most  bitter  potion  of  the  world,  and 
makes  tortures  and  death  not  only  tolerable, 
but  amiable  ;  and  therefore  to  part  with  this 
whose  excellency  is  so  great,  for  the  world, 
that  is  of  so  inconsiderable  a  worth,  as  not  to 
have  in  it  recompense  enough  for  the  sorrows 
of  a  sharp  disease,  is  a  bargain  fit  to  be  made 
by  none  but  fools  and  madmen.  Antiochus 
Epiphanes,  and  Herod  the  Great,  and  his 
grandchild  Agrippa,  were  sad  instances  of  this 
great  trath  ;  to  every  of  which  it  happened, 
that  the  grandeur  of  their  fortune,  the  great- 
ness of  their  possessions,  and  the  increase  of 
their  estate  disappeared  and  expired  like  cam- 
phor, at  their  arrest  by  those  several  sharp 
diseases,  which  covered  their  heads  with  cy- 
press, and  hid  their  crowns  in  an  inglorious 
grave. 

For  what  can  all  the  world  minister  to  a  sick 
person,  if  it  represents  all  the  spoils  of  nature 
and  the  choicest  delicacies  of  land  and  sea  ? 
Alas  !  his  appetite  is  lost,  and  to  see  a  pebble- 
stone is  more  pleasing  to  him  ;  for  he  can  look 
upon  that  without  loathing,  but  not  so  ujjon 
the  most  delicious  fare  that  ever  made  famous 
the  Roman  luxury.  Perfumes  make  his  head 
ache.  If  you  load  him  with  jewels,  you  press 
him  with  a  burden  as  troublesome  as  his  gi*ave- 
stone.     And  what  pleasure  is  in  all  those  pos- 


212  WOBLDLY  POSSESSIONS. 

sessions  that  cannot  make  liis  pillow  easy,  nor 
tame  the  rebellion  of  a  tumviltuous  humor,  nor 
restore  the  use  of  a  withered  hand,  or  straight- 
en a  crooked  finger  ?  Vain  is  the  hope  of  that 
man  whose  soul  rests  upon  vanity  and  such 
unprofitable  possessions. 

Suppose  a  man  lord  of  all  this  world,  a 
universal  monarch,  as  some  princes  have  lately 
designed,  —  all  that  cannot  minister  content  to 
him  ;  not  that  content  which  a  poor  contem- 
plative man,  by  the  strength  of  Christian  phi- 
losophy and  the  support  of  a  very  small  fortune, 
daily  does  enjoy.  All  his  power  and  greatness 
cannot  command  the  sea  to  overflow  his  shores, 
or  to  stay  from  retiring  to  the  opposite  strand. 
It  cannot  make  his  children  dutiful  or  wise. 
And  though  the  world  admired  at  the  great- 
ness of  Philip  the  Second's  fortune  in  the  ac- 
cession of  Portugal  and  the  East  Indies  to  his 
prmcipalities,  yet  this  could  not  allay  the  infe- 
hcity  of  his  family  and  the  unhandsomeness  of 
his  condition,  in  having  a  proud  and  indiscreet 
and  a  vicious  young  prince  likely  to  inherit  all 
his  greatness.  And  if  nothing  appears  in  the 
face  of  such  a  fortune  to  tell  all  the  world  that 
it  is  spotted  and  imperfect,  yet  there  is  in  all 
conditions  of  the  world  such  weariness  and 
tediousness  of  spirits,  that  a  man  is  ever  more 
pleased  with  hopes  of  going  off  from  the  pres- 
ent than  in  dwelling  upon  that  condition  which, 


WORLDLY  POSSESSIONS.  213 

it  may  be,  others  admire  and  think  beauteous, 
but  none  knoweth  the  smart  of  it  but  he  that 
drank  off  the  Httle  pleasiu'e  and  felt  the  ill-rel- 
ish of  the  appendage.  How  many  kings  have 
groaned  under  the  burden  of  their  crowns, 
and  have  sunk  down  and  died  !  How^  many 
have  quitted  their  pompous  cares  and  retired 
into  private  lives,  there  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  philosophy  and  religion,  which  their  tlurones 
denied ! 

That  is  a  sad  condition  when,  like  Midas,  all 
that  the  man  touches  shall  turn  to  eold  :  and 
his  is  no  better  to  whom  a  perpetual  full  table, 
not  recreated  with  fasting,  not  made  pleasant 
with  intervening  scarcitv,  ministers  no  more 
good  than  a  heap  of  gold  does  ;  that  is,  he  hath 
no  benefit  of  it,  save  the  beholding  of  it  with 
his  eyes.  Cannot  a  man  quench  his  thirst  as 
well  out  of  an  urn  or  chalice,  as  out  of  a  whole 
river  ?  It  is  an  ambitious  thirst  and  a  pride  of 
draught,  that  had  rather  lay  his  mouth  to  Eu- 
phrates than  to  a  petty  goblet ;  but  if  he  had 
rather,  it  adds  not  so  much  to  his  content  as 
to  his  danger  and  his  vanity.  For  so  I  have 
heard  of  persons  whom  the  river  hath  swept 
away,  together  with  the  turf  they  pressed,  when 
they  stopped  to  drown  their  pride  rather  than 
their  thirst. 


214  EXCELLENCE   OF   THE  SOUL. 


EXCELLENCE  OF  THE  SOUL. 

TF  we  consider  what  the  soul  is,  in  its  own 
-*-  capacity  to  happiness,  we  shall  find  it  to  be 
an  excellency  greater  than  the  sun,  of  an  angel- 
ical substance,  sister  to  a  cherub,  an  image  of 
the  divinity,  and  the  great  argument  of  that 
mercy  whereby  God  did  distinguish  us  from 
the  lower  form  of  beasts  and  trees  and  min- 
erals. 

The  soul  is  all  that  whereby  we  may  be,  and 
without  which  we  cannot  be,  happy.  It  is  not 
the  eye  that  sees  the  beauties  of  the  heaven, 
nor  the  ear  that  hears  the  sweetness  of  music 
or  the  glad  tidings  of  a  prosperous  accident,  but 
the  soul  that  perceives  all  the  relishes  of  sen- 
sual and  intellectual  perfections  ;  and  the  more 
noble  and  excellent  the  soul  is,  the  greater  and 
more  savory  are  its  perceptions.  And  if  a 
child  beholds  the  rich  ermine,  or  the  diamonds 
of  a  starry  night,  or  the  order  of  the  world,  or 
hears  the  discourses  of  an  apostle,  because  he 
makes  no  reflex  acts  upon  himself,  and  sees 
not  that  he  sees,  he  can  have  but  the  pleasure 
of  a  fool,  or  the  deliciousness  of  a  mule.  But 
although  the  reflection  of  its  own  acts  be  a  rare 
instrument  of  pleasure  or  pain  respectively,  yet 
the  soul's  excellence  is  upon  the  same  reason 
not  perceived   by  us,  by  which  the  sapidness 


EXCELLENCE    OF   TEE  SOUL.  215 

of  pleasant  things  of  nature  are  not  understood 
by  a  child ;  even  because  the  soul  cannot  re- 
flect far  enough.  For  as  the  sun,  wliich  is  the 
fountain  of  hght  and  heat,  makes  violent  and 
direct  emissions  of  his  rays  fi'om  himself,  but 
reflects  them  no  farther  than  to  the  bottom  of 
a  cloud,  or  the  lowest  imaginary  circle  of  the 
middle  region,  and  therefore  receives  not  a 
duplicate  of  its  own  heat ;  so  is  the  soul  of 
man :  it  reflects  upon  its  own  inferior  actions 
of  particular  sense  or  general  undei'standing  ; 
but  because  it  knows  little  of  its  own  natui'e, 
the  manners  of  volition,  the  immediate  instru- 
ments of  understanding,  the  Avay  how  it  comes 
to  meditate,  and  cannot  discern  how  a  sudden 
thought  arrives,  or  the  solution  of  a  doubt  not 
depending  upon  preceding  premises  ;  there- 
fore above  half  its  pleasures  are  abated,  and 
its  own  worth  less  understood  :  and  possibly  it 
is  the  better  it  is  so.  If  the  elephant  knew  his 
strength,  or  the  horse  the  vigorousness  of  his 
own  spirit,  they  would  be  as  rebellious  against 
their  rulers  as  unreasonable  men  against  eov- 
ernment :  nay,  the  angels  themselves,  because 
their  light  reflected  home  to  their  orbs,  and 
they  understood  all  the  secrets  of  their  own 
perfection,  they  grew  vertiginous,  and  fell  from 
the  battlements  of  heaven. 


216  THE  REWARDS   OF   VIRTUE. 


THE  REWARDS  OF  VIRTUE. 

^HE  things  of  God  are  the.  noblest  satisfac- 
-■-  tions  to  those  desh'es  which  ono-ht  to  be 
cherished  and  swelled  up  to  infinite  ;  their 
deliciousness  is  vast  and  full  of  relish  ;  and 
their  very  appendant  thorns  are  to  be  chosen, 
for  they  are  gilded,  they  are  safe  and  medic- 
inal, they  heal  the  wound  they  make,  and 
bring  forth  fruit  of  a  blessed  and  a  holy  hfe. 
The  things  of  God  and  of  religion  are  easy 
and  sweet,  they  bear  entertainments  in  their 
hand  and  reward  at  their  back  ;  their  good  is 
certain  and  perpetual,  and  they  make  us  cheer- 
ful to-day,  and  pleasant  to-morrow  ;  and  spirit- 
ual songs  end  not  in  a  sigh  and  a  groan,  but 
they  bring  us  to  the  felicity  of  God,  the  same 
yesterday  and  to-day  and  forever.  They  do 
not  give  a  private  and  particular  delight,  but 
their  benefit  is  public ;  like  the  incense  of  the 
altar,  it  sends  up  a  sweet  smell  to  heaven,  and 
makes  atonement  for  the  religious  man  that 
kindled  it,  and  delights  all  the  standers-by, 
and  makes  the  very  air  wholesome.  There  is 
no  blessed  soul  goes  to  heaven  but  he  makes 
a  general  joy  in  all  the  mansions  where  the 
saints  do  dwell,  and  in  all  the  chapels  where 
the  angels  sing  ;  and  the  joys  of  religion  are 
not  univocal,  but  productive  of  rare  and  acci- 


THE  REWARDS   OF   VIRTUE.  217 

dental  and  preternatural  pleasures  ;  for  the 
music  of  holy  hymns  dehghts  the  ear  and  re- 
freshes the  sph-it,  and  makes  the  very  bones 
of  the  saints  to  rejoice.  And  charity,  or  the 
giving  alms  to  the  poor,  does  not  only  ease  the 
poverty  of  the  receiver,  but  makes  the  giver 
rich,  and  heals  his  sickness,  and  dehvers  from 
death.  And  temperance,  though  it  be  in  the 
matter  of  meat  and  drink  and  pleasm-es,  yet 
hath  an  effect  upon  the  understanding,  and 
makes  the  reason  sober,  and  the  will  orderly, 
and  the  affections  regular,  and  does  thmgs  be- 
side  and  beyond  their  natural  and  proper  effi- 
cacy :  for  all  the  parts  of  our  duty  are  watered 
with  the  showers  of  blessing,  and  bring  forth 
fruit  according  to  the  influence  of  heaven,  and 
beyond  the  capacities  of  natm'e. 

But  they  that  ^\^ll  not  deny  a  lust,  nor  re- 
frain an  appetite,  they  that  will  be  drunk  when 
their  friends  do  merrily  constrain  them,  or  love 
a  cheap  religion,  and  a  gentle  and  lame  prayer, 
short  and  soft,  quickly  said  and  soon  passed 
over,  seldom  returning  and  but  little  observed, 
how  is  it  possible  that  they  should  think  them- 
selves persons  disposed  to  receive  such  glorious 
crowns  and  sceptres,  such  excellent  conditions, 
which  they  have  not  faith  enough  to  beheve, 
nor  attention  enough  to  consider,  and  no  man 
can  have  wit  enough  to  understand  ?  But  so 
might   an   Arcadian    shepherd   look   from   the 


218  RELIGION  AND   GOVERNMENT. 

rocks,  or  tlirough  the  clifts  of  the  valley  where 
his  sheep  graze,  and  wonder  that  the  messen- 
ger stays  so  long  from  coming  to  him  to  be 
crowned  king  of  all  the  Greek  islands,  or  to  be 
adopted  heir  to  the  Macedonian  monarchy.  It 
is  an  infinite  love  of  God  that  we  have  heaven 
upon  conditions  which  we  can  perform  with 
greatest  diligence  :  but,  truly,  the  lives  of  men 
are  generally  such  that  they  do  things  in  order 
to  heaven,  things  (I  say)  so  few,  so  trifling,  so 
unworthy,  that  they  are  not  proportionable  to 
the  reward  of  a  crown  of  oak  or  a  yellow  rib- 
bon, the  slender  reward  with  which  the  Ro- 
mans paid  their  soldiers  for  their  extraordinary 
valor.  True  it  is,  that  heaven  is  not  in  a  just 
sense  of  a  commutation,  a  reward,  but  a  gift, 
and  an  infinite  favor  :  but  yet  it  is  not  reached 
forth  but  to  persons  disposed  by  the  conditions 
of  God ;  which  conditions  when  we  pursue  in 
kind,  let  us  be  very  careful  we  do  not  fail  of 
the  mighty  prize  of  our  high  calling  for  want 
of  degrees  and  just  measures,  the  measures  of 
zeal  and  a  mighty  love. 


EELIGION   AND    GOVERNMENT. 

THOSE  sects  of  Christians,  whose  professed 
doctrine  brings  destruction  and  diminution 


RELIGION  AND   GOVERNMENT.  219 

to  government,  give  the  most  intolerable  scan- 
dal and  dishonor  to  the  institution  ;  and  it  had 
been  impossible  that  Christianity  should  have 
prevailed  over  the  wisdom  and  power  of  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  if  it  had  not  been  humble 
to  superiors,  patient  of  injuries,  charitable  to 
the  needy,  a  great  exacter  of  obedience  to 
kings,  even  to  heathens,  that  they  might  be 
won  and  convinced ;  and  to  persecutors,  that 
they  might  be  sweetened  in  their  anger,  or  up- 
braided for  their  cruel  injustice.  For  so  doth 
the  humble  vine  creep  at  the  foot  of  an  oak, 
and  leans  upon  its  lowest  base,  and  begs  shade 
and  protection,  and  leave  to  grow  under  its 
branches,  and  to  give  and  take  mutual  refresh- 
ment, and  pay  a  friendly  influence  for  a  mighty 
patronage  ;  and  they  gi'ow  and  dwell  together, 
and  are  the  most  remarkable  of  friends  and 
married  pairs  of  all  the  leafy  nation.  Religion 
of  itself  is  soft,  easy,  and  defenceless,  and  God 
hath  made  it  grow  up  with  empire,  and  lean 
upon  the  arms  of  kings,  and  it  cannot  well 
grow  alone ;  and  if  it  shall,  like  the  ivy,  suck 
the  heart  of  the  oak,  upon  whose  body  it  grew 
and  Avas  supported,  it  will  be  pulled  down  from 
its  usurped  eminence,  and  fire  and  shame  shall 
be  its  portion. 


220  HYPO  CRIST. 


HYPOCRISY. 

WJ  E  do  not  live  in  an  age  in  which  there  is 
*  *  so  much  need  to  bid  men  be  wary,  as  to 
take  care  that  they  be  innocent.  Indeed  in 
rehgion  we  are  usually  too  loose  and  ungirt, 
exposing  ourselves  to  temptation,  and  others  to 
offence,  and  our  name  to  dishonor,  and  the 
cause  itself  to  reproach,  and  we  are  open  and 
ready  to  every  evil  but  persecution.  From 
that  we  are  close  enoiigh,  and  that  alone  we 
call  prudence  ;  but  in  the  matter  of  interest  we 
are  wary  as  serpents,  subtle  as  foxes,  vigilant 
as  the  birds  of  the  night,  rapacious  as  kites, 
tenacious  as  grappling-hooks  and  the  weightiest 
anchors,  and,  above  all,  false  and  hypocritical 
as  a  thin  crust  of  ice  spread  upon  the  face  of  a 
deep,  smooth,  and  dissembling  pit ;  if  you  set 
your  foot,  your  foot  slips,  or  the  ice  breaks,  and 
you  sink  into  death,  and  are  wound  in  a  sheet 
of  water,  descending  into  mischief  or  your 
grave,  suffering  a  great  fall,  or  a  sudden  death, 
by  your  confidence  and  unsuspecting  foot. 
There  is  a  universal  crust  of  hypocrisy  that 
covers  the  face  of  the  greatest  part  of  man- 
kind. Their  religion  consists  in  forms  and 
outsides,  and  serves  reputation  or  a  design,  but 
does  not  serve  God.  Their  promises  are  but 
fair  language,  and  the   civilities  of  piazzas  or 


HYPOCRISY.  221 

exchanges,  and  disband  and  untie  like  the  air 
that  beats  upon  their  teeth  when  they  speak 
the  dehcious  and  hopeful  words.     Their  oaths 
are  snares  to  catch  men,  and  make  them  confi- 
dent ;  their  contracts  are  arts  and  stratagems 
to  deceive,  measured  by  profit  and  possibility  ; 
and  everything  is  lawful  that  is  gainful ;  and 
their  friendships   are    trades  of  getting ;    and 
their  kindness   of  watching  a  dymg  friend  is 
but  the  office  of  a  vulture,  the  gaping  for  a 
legacy,  the  spoil  of  the  carcase  ;  and  their  sick- 
nesses are  many  times  policies  of  state,  some- 
times a  design  to  show  the  riches  of  our  bed- 
chamber :  and  their  funeral  tears  are  but  the 
paranymphs  and   pious   solicitors  of  a  second 
bride.     And  everything  that  is  ugly  must  be 
hid,   and   everything  that  is   handsome   must 
be    seen :    and   that   will   make    a   fair   cover 
for   a   huge   deformity.      And  therefore  it  is 
(as   they  think)   necessary  that   men    should 
always  have  some  pretences  and  forms,  some 
faces  of  rehgion  or  sweetness  of  language,  con- 
fident  affirmatives    or   bold   oaths,   protracted 
treaties  or  multitude  of  words,  affected  silence 
or  grave  deportment,  a  good  name  or  a  good 
cause,  a  fair  relation  or  a  worthy  calling,  great 
power  or  a  pleasant  wit.     Anything  that  can 
be  fair  or  that  can  be  useful,  anything  that  can 
do  good  or  be  thought  good,  we  use  it  to  abuse 
our  brother,  or  promote  our  mterests.     Lepo- 


222  CHRIST'S  DISCIPLES. 

rina  resolved  to  die,  being  troubled  for  her  hus- 
band's danger ;  and  he  resolved  to  die  with 
her  that  had  so  great  a  kindness  for  him,  as 
not  to  outlive  the  best  of  her  husband's  for- 
tune. It  was  agreed  ;  and  she  tempered  the 
poison,  and  drank  the  face  of  the  unwholesome 
goblet ;  but  the  weighty  poison  sunk  to  the 
bottom,  and  the  easy  man  drank  it  all  off,  and 
died,  and  the  woman  carried  him  forth  to  fu- 
neral, and  after  a  little  illness,  which  she  soon 
recovered,  she  entered  upon  the  inheritance, 
and  a  second  marriage. 


CHRIST'S   DISCIPLES. 

"Y^HEN  our  blessed  Saviour  told  his  disciples 
'  '  that  they  should  sit  upon  twelve  thrones, 
they  presently  thought  they  had  his  bond  for  a 
kingdom,  and  dreamed  of  wealth  and  honor, 
power  and  a  splendid  court ;  and  Christ  knew 
they  did,  but  did  not  disentangle  his  promise 
from  the  enfolded  and  intricate  sense,  of  which 
his  words  were  naturally  capable  ;  but  he  per- 
formed his  promise  to  better  purposes  than 
they  hoped  for.  They  were  presidents  in  the 
conduct  of  souls,  princes  of  God's  people,  the 
chief  in  sufferings,  stood  nearest  to  the  cross, 
had  an  elder  brother's  portion  in  the  kingdom 


TEE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY.    223 

of  grace,  were  the  founders  of  churches,  and 
dispensers  of  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom, 
and  ministers  of  the  spirit  of  God,  and  chan- 
nels of  mighty  blessings,  under-mediators  in 
the  priesthood  of  their  Lord,  and  "  their  names 
were  written  in  heaven  "  :  and  this  was  infi- 
nitely better  than  to  groan  and  wake  under  a 
head  pressed  with  a  golden  crown  and  pungent 
cares,  and  to  eat  alone,  and  to  walk  in  a  crowd, 
and  to  be  vexed  with  all  the  public  and  many 
of  the  private  evils  of  the  people,  which  is  the 
sum  total  of  an  earthly  kingdom. 


THE  MIEACLES  OF  THE  DIVINE  MERCY. 


T 


HE  light  of  the  world  in  the  morning  of  the 
creation  was  spread  abroad  like  a  curtain, 
and  dwelt  nowhere,  but  filled  the  "  expansum" 
with  a  dissemination  great  as  the  unfoldings  of 
the  air's  looser  garment,  or  the  wilder  fi-inges 
of  the  fire,  without  knots,  or  order,  or  combi- 
nation. But  God  gathered  the  beams  in  his 
hand,  and  united  them  into  a  globe  of  fire,  and 
all  the  light  of  the  world  became  the  body  of 
the  sun  ;  and  he  lent  some  to  his  weaker  sister 
that  walks  in  the  night,  and  guides  a  traveller, 
and  teaches  him  to  distinsuish  a  house  from  a 
river,  or  a  rock  from  a  plain  field.     So  is  the 


224     THE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCT. 

Diercy  of  God,  a  vast  "  expansum  "  and  a  huge 
ocean  ;  from  eternal  ages  it  dwelt  round  about 
the  throne  of  God,  and  it  filled  all  that  infinite 
distance  and  space  that  hath  no  measures  but 
the  will  of  God  ;  until  God,  desiring  to  com- 
municate that  excellence  and  make  it  relative, 
created  angels,  that  he  might  have  persons 
capable  of  huge  gifts,  and  man,  who  he  knew 
would  need  forgiveness.  For  so  the  angels, 
our  elder  brothers,  dwelt  forever  in  the  house 
of  their  father,  and  never  broke  his  command- 
ments ;  but  we,  the  yormger,  like  prodigals, 
forsook  our  father's  house,  and  went  into  a 
strange  country,  and  followed  stranger  courses, 
and  spent  the  portion  of  our  nature,  and  for- 
feited all  our  title  to  the  family,  and  came  to 
need  another  portion.  For,  ever  since  the  fall 
of  Adam,  who,  like  an  unfortunate  man,  spent 
all  that  a  wretched  man  could  need,  or  a  happy 
man  could  have,  our  life  is  repentance,  and 
forgiveness  is  all  our  portion ;  and  though 
angels  were  objects  of  God's  bounty,  yet  man 
only  is  (in  proper  speaking)  the  object  of  his 
mercy  ;  and  the  mercy  which  dwelt  in  an  in- 
finite circle,  became  confined  to  a  little  ring, 
and  dwelt  here  below,  and  here  shall  dwell  be- 
low till  it  hath  carried  all  God's  portion  up  to 
heaven,  where  it  shall  reign  and  glory  upon 
our  crowned  heads  forever  and  ever. 

But  for  him  that  considers  God's  mercies, 


TEE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY.    225 

and  dwells  awhile  in  that  depth,  it  is  hard  not 
to  talk  wildly  and  without  art  and  order  of  dis- 
coursing. St.  Peter  talked  he  knew  not  what, 
when  he  entered  into  a  cloud  with  Jesus  upon 
Mount  Tabor,  though  it  passed  over  him  like 
the  little  curtains  that  ride  upon  the  north- 
wind,  and  pass  between  the  sun  and  us.  And 
when  we  converse  with  a  light  greater  than 
the  sun,  and  taste  a  sweetness  more  delicious 
than  the  dew  of  heaven,  and  in  our  thoug-hts 
entertain  the  ravishments  and  harmony  of  that 
atonement  which  reconciles  God  to  man,  and 
man  to  fehcity,  it  will  be  more  easily  pardoned 
if  we  should  be  like  persons  that  admire  much 
and  say  but  little  ;  and  indeed  we  can  best  con- 
fess the  glories  of  the  Lord  by  dazzled  eyes, 
and  a  stammering  tongue,  and  a  heart  over- 
charged with  the  miracles  of  this  mfinity.  For 
so  those  little  drops  that  run  over,  though  they 
be  not  much  in  themselves,  yet  they  tell  that 
the  vessel  was  full,  and  could  express  the  gi-eat- 
ness  of  the  shower  no  otherwise  but  by  spilling, 
and  inartificial  expressions  and  runnings  over. 

But  because  I  have  undertaken  to  tell  the 
drops  of  the  ocean,  and  to  span  the  measures 
of  eternity,  I  must  do  it  by  the  great  lines  of 
revelation  and  experience,  and  tell  concerning 
God's  mercy  as  we  do  concerning  God  himself, 
that  he  is  that  great  fountain  of  which  we  all 

drink,  and  the  great  rock  of  which  we  all  eat, 
15 


226     THE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY. 

and  on  which  we  all  dwell,  and  under  whose 
shadow  we  are  all  refreshed.  God's  mercy  is 
all  this ;  and  we  can  only  draw  great  lines  of 
it,  and  reckon  the  constellations  of  our  hemi- 
sphere instead  of  telling  the  number  of  the 
stars ;  we  only  can  reckon  what  we  feel  and 
what  we  live  by.  And  though  there  be  in 
every  one  of  these  lines  of  life  enough  to  en- 
gage us  forever  to  do  God  service,  and  to  give 
him  praises  ;  yet  it  is  certain  there  are  very 
many  mercies  of  God  upon  us,  and  towards  us, 
and  concerning  us,  which  we  neither  feel,  nor 
see,  nor  understand  as  yet ;  but  yet  we  are 
blessed  by  them,  and  are  preserved  and  se- 
cured, and  we  shall  then  know  them  when  we 
come  to  give  God  thanks  in  the  festivities  of 
an  eternal  sabbath. 

In  this  accomit  concerning  the  mercies  of 
God,  I  must  not  reckon  the  miracles  and  graces 
of  the  creation,  or  anything  of  the  nature  of 
man ;  nor  tell  how  great  an  endearment  God 
passed  upon  us,  that  'he  made  us  men,  capable 
of  felicity,  apted  with  rare  instruments  of  dis- 
course and  reason,  passions  and  desires,  notices 
of  sense,  and  reflections  upon  that  sense  ;  that 
we  have  not  the  deformity  of  a  crocodile,  nor 
the  motion  of  a  worm,  nor  the  hunger  of  a 
wolf,  nor  the  wildness  of  a  tiger,  nor  the  birth, 
of  vipers,  nor  the  life  of  flies,  nor  the  death  of 
serpents. 


THE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY.    227 

Our  excellent  bodies  and  useful  faculties,  the 
upright  motion  and  the  tenacious  hand,  the  fair 
appetites  and  proportioned  satisfactions,  our 
speech  and  our  perceptions,  our  acts  of  life, 
the  rare  invention  of  letters,  and  the  use  of 
writing,  and  speaking  at  a  distance,  the  inter- 
vals of  rest  and  labor,  (either  of  which,  if  they 
were  perpetual,  would  be  intolerable,)  the  needs 
of  nature  and  the  provisions  of  providence, 
sleep  and  business,  refreshments  of  the  body 
and  entertainments  of  the  soul ;  these  are  to  be 
reckoned  as  acts  of  bounty  rather  than  mercy. 
God  gave  us  these  Avhen  he  made  us,  and  be- 
fore we  needed  mercy ;  these  were  portions  of 
our  nature,  or  provided  to  supply  our  conse- 
quent necessities.  But  when  Ave  forfeited  all 
God's  favor  by  our  sins,  then  that  they  were 
continued  or  restored  to  us  became  a  mercy, 
and  therefore  ought  to  be  reckoned  upon  this 
new  account :  for  it  was  a  rare  mercy  that  we 
were  suflPered  to  live  at  all,  or  that  the  anger  of 
God  did  pennit  to  us  one  blessing,  that  he  did 
punish  us  so  gently.  We  looked  for  a  judge, 
and  behold  a  Saviour  ;  we  feared  an  accuser, 
and  behold  an  advocate  ;  we  sat  down  in  sor- 
row, and  rise  in  joy ;  we  leaned  upon  rhubarb 
and  aloes,  and  our  aprons  were  made  of  the 
sharp  leaves  of  Indian  fig-trees,  and  so  we  fed, 
and  so  were  clothed  ;  but  the  rhubarb  proved 
medicinal,    and   the    rough    leaf   of   the    tree 


228     THE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY. 

brought  its  fruit  wrapped  up  in  its  foldings  ; 
and  round  about  our  dwellings  was  planted  a 
hediie  of  thorns  and  bundles  of  thistles,  the 
aconite  and  the  briony,  the  nightshade  and  the 
poppy ;  and  at  the  root  of  these  grew  the  heal- 
ing plantain,  which,  rising  up  into  a  tallness  by 
the  friendly  invitation  of  heavenly  influence, 
turned  about  the  tree  of  the  cross,  and  cured 
the  wounds  of  the  thorns,  and  the  curse  of  the 
thistles,  and  the  malediction  of  man,  and  the 
wrath  of  God. 

After  all  this,  we  may  sit  down  and  reckon 
by  great  sums  and  conjugations  of  his  gracious 
gifts,  and  tell  the  minutes  of  eternity  by  the 
number  of  the  divine  mercies.  God  hath  given 
his  laws  to  rule  us,  his  word  to  instruct  us,  his 
spirit  to  guide  us,  his  angels  to  protect  us,  his 
ministers  to  exhort  us.  He  revealed  all  our 
duty,  and  he  hath  concealed  whatsoever  can 
liinder  us  ;  he  hath  affrighted  our  follies  with 
fear  of  death,  and  engaged  our  watchfulness 
by  its  secret  coming ;  he  hath  exercised  our 
faith  by  keeping  private  the  state  of  souls  de- 
parted, and  yet  hath  confirmed  our  faith  by  a 
promise  of  a  resurrection,  and  entertained  our 
hope  by  some  general  significations  of  the  state 
of  interval.  His  mercies  make  contemptible 
means  instrumental  to  great  purposes,  and  a 
small  herb  the  remedy  of  the  greatest  diseases. 
He  impedes  the  devil's  rage,  and  infatuates  his 


THE  MIRACLES   OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY.    229 

counsels  ;  lie  diverts  his  malice,  and  defeats 
his  purposes  ;  he  binds  him  in  the  chain  of 
darkness,  and  gives  him  no  power  over  the 
children  of  ho-ht ;  he  suffers  him  to  walk  in  soli- 
tary  places,  and  yet  fetters  him  that  he  cannot 
disturb  the  sleep  of  a  child  ;  he  hath  given  him 
mighty  power,  and  yet  a  young  maiden  that 
resists  him  shall  make  him  flee  awav  ;  he  hath 
given  him  a  vast  knowledge,  and  yet  an  igno- 
rant man  can  confute  him  with  the  twelve  ar- 
ticles of  his  creed  ;  he  gave  him  power  over  the 
winds,  and  made  him  prince  of  the  air,  and 
yet  the  breath  of  a  holy  prayer  can  drive  him 
as  far  as  the  utmost  sea ;  and  he  hath  so  re- 
strained him,  that  (except  it  be  by  faith)  we 
know  not  whether  there  be  any  devil,  yea  or 
no ;  for  we  never  heard  his  noises,  nor  have 
seen  his  aftVighting  shapes. 

This  is  that  great  principle  of  all  the  felic- 
ity we  hope  for,  and  of  all  the  means  thither, 
and  of  all  the  skill  and  all  the  streno-ths  we 
have  to  use  those  means.  He  hath  made  great 
variety  of  conditions,  and  yet  hath  made  all 
necessar}^  and  all  mutual  helpers ;  and  by  some 
instruments  and  in  some  respects  they  are  all 
equal,  in  order  to  felicity,  to  content,  and  final 
and  intermedial  satisfaction.  He  gave  us  part 
of  our  reward  in  hand,  that  he  might  enable 
us  to  work  for  more  :  he  taught  the  world 
arts  for  use,  arts  for  entertainment  of  all  our 


230     THE  MIRACLES    OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY. 

faculties  and  all  our  dispositions :  lie  gives 
eternal  gifts  for  temporal  services,  and  gives 
us  whatsoever  we  want  for  asking,  and  com- 
mands us  to  ask,  and  threatens  us  if  we  will 
not  ask,  and  pimishes  us  for  refusing  to  be 
happy.  This  is  that  glorious  attribute  that  hath 
made  order  and  health,  harmony  and  hope,  res- 
titutions and  variety,  the  joys  of  direct  posses- 
sion, and  the  joys,  the  artificial  joys,  of  contra- 
riety and  comparison.  He  comforts  the  poor, 
and  he  brings  down  the  rich,  that  they  may  be 
safe,  in  their  humility  and  sorrow,  from  the 
transportations  of  an  unhappy  and  uninstructed 
prosperity.  He  gives  necessaries  to  all,  and 
scatters  the  extraordinary  provisions  so,  that 
every  nation  may  traffic  in  charity,  and  com- 
mute for  pleasures.  He  was  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
and  he  is  still  what  he  was ;  but  he  loves  to  be 
called  the  God  of  peace  ;  because  he  was  ter- 
rible in  that,  but  he  is  delighted  in  this. 

His  mercy  is  his  glory,  and  his  glory  is  the 
light  of  heaven.  His  mercy  is  the  life  of  the 
creation,  and  it  fills  all  the  earth ;  and  his 
mercy  is  a  sea  too,  and  it  fills  all  the  abysses 
of  the  deep ;  it  hath  given  us  promises  for  sup- 
ply of  whatsoever  we  need,  and  relieves  us  in 
all  our  fears,  and  in  all  the  evils  that  we  suffer. 
His  mercies  are  more  than  we  can  tell,  and 
they  are  more  than  we  can  feel.  For  all  the 
world  in  the  abyss  of  the  divine  mercies  is  like 


THE  MIRACLES    OF   THE  DIVINE  MERCY.      231 

a  man  diving  into  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  over 
whose  head  the  waters  run  insensibly  and  un- 
perceived,  and  yet  the  weight  is  vast,  and  the 
sura  of  them  is  immeasurable  ;  and  the  man  is 
not  pressed  with  the  burden,  nor  confounded 
with  numbers.  And  no  observation  is  able 
to  recount,  no  sense  sufficient  to  perceive,  no 
memory  large  enough  to  retain,  no  understand- 
ing great  enough  to  apprehend  this  infinity  ; 
but  we  must  admire,  and  love,  and  worship, 
and  magnify  this  mercy  forever  and  ever ;  that 
we  may  dwell  in  what  we  feel,  and  be  compre- 
hended by  that  which  is  equal  to  God,  and  the 
parent  of  all  felicity. 

The  result  of  this  consideration  is,  that  as  we 
fear  the  divine  judgments,  so  we  adore  and  love 
his  goodness,  and  let  the  golden  chains  of  the 
divine  mercy  tie  us  to  a  noble  prosecution  of 
our  duty  and  the  interest  of  religion.  For  he  is 
the  worst  of  men  whom  kindness  cannot  soften, 
nor  endearment  oblige,  whom  gratitude  cannot 
tie  faster  than  the  bands  of  life  and  death.  He 
is  an  ill-natured  sinner,  if  he  will  not  comply 
with  the  sweetnesses  of  heaven,  and  be  civil  to 
his  angel  guardian,  or  observant  of  his  patron, 
God,  who  made  him,  and  feeds  him,  and  keeps 
all  his  faculties,  and  takes  care  of  him,  and  en- 
dures his  follies,  and  waits  on  him  more  ten- 
derly than  a  nurse,  more  diligently  than  a  cli- 
ent;   who  hath  greater  care  of  him  than  his 


232  NATIONAL  ADVERSITY. 

father,  and  whose  bowels  yearn  over  him  with 
more  compassion  than  a  mother  ;  who  is  boun- 
tiful beyond  our  need,  and  merciful  beyond  our 
hopes,  and  makes  capacities  in  us  to  receive 
more.  Fear  is  stronger  than  death,  and  love  is 
more  prevalent  than  fear,  and  kindness  is  the 
greatest  endearment  of  love  ;  and  yet  to  an 
ingenuous  person  gratitude  is  greater  than  all 
these,  and  obliges  to  a  solemn  duty,  when  love 
fails,  and  fear  is  dull  and  unactive,  and  death 
itself  is  despised.  But  the  man  who  is  hard- 
ened against  kindness,  and  whose  duty  is  not 
made  alive  with  gratitude,  must  be  used  like  a 
slave,  and  driven  like  an  ox,  and  enticed  with 
goads  and  whips  ;  but  must  never  enter  into 
the  inheritance  of  sons.  Let  us  take  heed  ;  for 
mercy  is  like  a  rainbow,  which  God  set  in  the 
clouds  to  remember  mankind  :  it  shines  here  as 
long  as  it  is  not  hindered ;  but  we  must  never 
look  for  it  after  it  is  night,  and  it  shines  not  in 
the  other  world.  If  we  refuse  mercy  here,  we 
shall  have  justice  to  eternity. 


NATIONAL   ADVERSITY. 

IT  is  a  sad  calamity  to  see  a  kingdom  spoiled 
and  a  church  afflicted ;    the    priests    slain 
with  the  sword,  and  the  blood  of  nobles  min- 


NATIONAL  ADVERSITY.  233 

gled  with  cheaper  sand  ;  rehgion  made  a  cause 
of  trouble,  and  the  best  men  most  cruelly 
persecuted ;  government  confounded  and  laws 
ashamed  ;  judges  decreemg  causes  in  fear  and 
covetousness,  and  the  ministers  of  holy  things 
setting  themselves  agamst  all  that  is  sacred, 
and  setting  fire  upon  the  fields,  and  turning  in 
little  foxes  on  purpose  to  destroy  the  vine- 
yards. And  what  shall  make  recompense  for 
this  heap  of  sorrows,  whenever  God  shall  send 
such  swords  of  fire  ?  Even  the  mercies  of 
God,  which  then  will  be  made  public,  when 
we  shall  hear  such  afflicted  people  sing,  "  In 
convertendo  cajjtivitatem  Sion"  Avith  the  voice 
of  joy  and  festival  eucharist  among  such  as 
keep  holiday  ;  and  when  peace  shall  become 
sweeter  and  dwell  the  longer.  And  in  the 
mean  time  it  serves  religion,  and  the  affliction 
shall  try  the  children  of  God,  and  God  shall 
crown  them,  and  men  shall  grow  wiser  and 
more  holy,  and  leave  their  petty  interests,  and 
take  sanctuary  in  holy  Hving,  and  be  taught 
temperance  by  their  want,  and  patience  by 
their  suffering,  and  charity  by  their  persecu- 
tion, and  shall  better  understand  the  duty  of 
their  relations ;  and  at  last  the  secret  worm 
that  lay  at  the  root  of  the  plant  shall  be  drawn 
forth  and  quite  extinguished.  For  so  have  I 
known  a  luxuriant  vine  swell  into  irregular 
twigs  and  bold  excrescences,  and  spend  itself 


234  EVANGELICAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

in  leaves  and  little  rings,  and  afford  but  trifling 
clusters  to  the  wine-press,  and  a  faint  return  to 
his  heart,  which  longed  to  be  refreshed  with  a 
full  vintage  :  but  when  the  lord  of  the  vine  had 
caused  the  dressers  to  cut  the  wilder  plant,  and 
made  it  bleed,  it  grew  temperate  in  its  vain  ex- 
pense of  useless  leaves,  and  knotted  into  fair 
and  juicy  branches,  and  made  accounts  of  that 
loss  of  blood  by  the  return  of  fruit.  So  is  an 
afflicted  province  cured  of  its  surfeits,  and  pun- 
ished for  its  sins,  and  bleeds  for  its  long  riot, 
and  is  left  ungoverned  for  its  disobedience,  and 
chastised  for  its  wantonness  ;  and  when  the 
sword  hath  let  forth  the  corrupted  blood,  and 
the  fire  hath  purged  the  rest,  then  it  enters 
into  the  double  joys  of  restitution,  and  gives 
God  thanks  for  his  rod,  and  confesses  the  mer- 
cies of  the  Lord  in  making  the  smoke  to  be 
changed  into  fire,  and  the  cloud  into  a  per- 
fume, the  sword  into  a  staff,  and  his  anger  into 
mercy. 


EVANGELICAL   RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

TX7E  must  know  that  in  keeping  of  God's 
"  '     commandments  every  degree  of  internal 
duty  is  under  the  commandments ;  and  there- 
fore Avhatever  we  do,  we  must  do  it  as  well  as 


EVANGELICAL  RIGHTEOUSNESS.  235 

we  can.  Now  he  that  does  his  duty  with  the 
biggest  affection  he  can,  will  also  do  all  that  he 
can ;  and  he  can  never  know  that  he  hath  done 
what  is  commanded,  unless  he  does  all  that  is 
in  his  power.  For  God  hath  put  no  limit  but 
love  and  possibility ;  and  therefore  whoever 
says.  Hither  will  I  go  and  no  farther,  this  I 
will  do  and  no  more,  thus  much  will  I  serve 
God,  but  that  shall  be  all,  —  he  hath  the  affec- 
tions of  a  slave,  and  the  religion  of  a  Pharisee, 
the  craft  of  a  merchant,  and  the  falseness  of  a 
broker ;  but  he  hath  not  the  proper  measures 
of  the  righteousness  evanorelical.  But  so  it 
happens  in  the  mud  and  slime  of  the  river 
Borborus,  when  the  eye  of  the  sun  hath  long 
dwelt  upon  it,  and  produces  frogs  and  mice 
which  begin  to  move  a  little  under  a  thin  cover 
of  its  own  parental  matter,  and  if  they  can  get 
loose  to  live  half  a  Hfe,  that  is  all ;  but  the 
hinder  parts,  which  are  not  formed  before  the 
setting  of  the  sun,  stick  fast  in  their  beds  of 
mud,  and  the  little  moiety  of  a  creature  dies  be- 
fore it  could  be  well  said  to  live.  So  it  is  with 
those  Christians  who  will  do  all  that  they  think 
lawful,  and  will  do  no  more  than  what  they 
suppose  necessary ;  they  do  but  peep  into  the 
light  of  the  sun  of  righteousness  ;  they  have 
the  beginnings  of  life ;  but  their  hinder  parts, 
their  passions  and  affections,  and  the  desires  of 
the  lower  man,   are   still  unformed ;    and  he 


23  6  WA  TCHF  ULNE88. 

that  dwells  in  this  state  is  just  so  much  of  a 
Christian  as  a  sponge  is  of  a  plant,  and  a  mush- 
room of  a  shrub  :  they  may  be  as  sensible  as 
an  oyster,  and  discourse  at  the  rate  of  a  child, 
but  are  greatly  short  of  the  righteousness 
evangelical. 


WATCHFULNESS. 

TTE  that  would  be  free  from  the  slavery  of 
-*--'-  sin,  and  the  necessity  of  sinning,  must  al- 
ways watch.  Ay,  that 's  the  point ;  but  who 
can  watch  always  ?  Why,  every  good  man  can 
watch  always :  and  that  we  may  not  be  de- 
ceived in  this,  let  us  know  that  the  running 
away  from  a  temptation  is  a  part  of  our  watch- 
ftilness,  and  every  good  employment  is  another 
great  part  of  it,  and  a  laying  in  pro-^nsion  of 
reason  and  religion  beforehand,  is  yet  a  third 
part  of  this  watchfrilness  :  and  the  conversation 
of  a  Christian  is  a  perpetual  watchfulness ;  not 
a  continual  thinking  of  that  one,  or  those  many 
things  which  may  endanger  us ;  but  it  is  a 
continual  doing  something  directly  or  indirectly 
against  sin.  He  either  prays  to  God  for  his 
spirit,  or  relies  upon  the  promises,  or  receives 
the  sacrament,  or  goes  to  his  bishop  for  counsel 
and  a  blessing,   or  to  his  priest  for  religious 


WATCHFULNESS.  237 

oflSces,  or  places  himself  at  the  feet  of  good 
men  to  hear  their  Avise  sayings,  or  calls  for  the 
Church's  prayers,  or  does  the  duty  of  his  call- 
ing, or  actually  resists  temptation,  or  frequently 
renews  his  holy  pui-poses,  or  fortifies  himself 
by  vows,  or  searches  into  his  danger  by  a  daily 
examination  ;  so  that  in  the  whole  he  is  for- 
ever upon  his  guard.  This  duty  and  caution 
of  a  Christian  is  like  watching  lest  a  man  cut 
his  finger.  Wise  men  do  not  often  cut  their 
fingers,  and  yet  every  day  they  use  a  knife ; 
and  a  man's  eye  is  a  tender  thing,  and  every- 
thing can  do  it  wrong,  can  put  it  out ;  yet  be- 
cause we  love  our  eyes  so  well,  in  the  midst  of 
so  many  dangers,  by  God's  proyidence  and  a 
prudent  natural  care,  by  winking  when  any- 
thing comes  against  them,  and  by  turning  aside 
when  a  blow  is  offered,  they  are  preserved  so 
certainly,  that  not  one  in  ten  thousand  does  by 
a  stroke  lose  one  of  his  eyes  in  all  his  lifetime. 
If  we  would  transplant  our  natural  care  to  a 
spiritual  caution,  we  might  by  God's  grace  be 
kept  from  losing  our  souls,  as  Ave  are  from  los- 
ing our  eyes ;  and  because  a  perpetual  watch- 
fulness is  our  great  defence,  and  the  perpetual 
presence  of  God's  grace  is  our  great  security, 
and  that  this  grace  never  leaves  us  unless  we 
leave  it,  and  the  precept  of  a  daily  watchful- 
ness is  a  thing  not  only  so  reasonable,  but  so 
many  easy  ways  to  be  performed,  we  see  upon 


238  PITY. 

what  terms  we  may  be  quit  of  our  sins,  and 
more  than  conquerors  over  all  the  enemies  and 
impediments  of  salvation. 


PITY. 


TF  you  do  but  see  a  maiden  carried  to  her 
-*-  grave  a  little  before  her  intended  marriage, 
or  an  infant  die  before  the  birth  of  reason,  na- 
ture hath  taught  us  to  pay  a  tributary  tear. 
Alas !  your  eyes  will  behold  the  ruin  of  many 
families,  which,  though  they  sadly  have  de- 
served, yet  mercy  is  not  delighted  with  the 
spectacle  ;  and  therefore  God  places  a  watery 
cloud  in  the  eye,  that  when  the  light  of  heaven 
shines  upon  it,  it  may  produce  a  rainbow  to  be 
a  sacrament  and  a  memorial  that  God  and  the 
sons  of  God  do  not  love  to  see  a  man  perish. 
God  never  rejoices  in  the  death  of  him  that 
dies ;  and  we  also  esteem  it  undecent  to  have 
music  at  a  funeral.  And  as  religion  teaches  us 
to  pity  a  condemned  criminal,  so  mercy  inter- 
cedes for  the  most  benign  interpretation  of  the 
laws.  You  must  indeed  be  as  just  as  the  laws, 
and  you  must  be  as  merciful  as  your  religion  ; 
and  you  have  no  way  to  tie  these  together  but 
to  follow  the  pattern  in  the  mount :  do  as  God 
does,  who  in  judgment  remembers  mercy. 


THE  HOPE   OF  MAN.  239 


THE    HOPE    OF  MAN. 

nPRULY,  what  is  the  hope  of  man  ?  It  is 
-*-  indeed  the  resurrection  of  the  soul  in  this 
world  from  sorrow  and  her  saddest  pressures, 
and  Hke  the  twilight  to  the  day,  and  the  har- 
bmger  of  joy ;  but  still  it  is  but  a  conjugation 
of  infirmities,  and  proclaims  our  present  calam- 
ity ;  only  because  it  is  uneasy  here,  it  thrusts 
us  forwards  toward  the  light  and  glory  of  the 
resurrection. 

For  as  a  worm,  creeping  with  her  belly  on 
the  ground,  with  her  portion  and  share  of 
Adam's  curse,  lifts  up  its  head  to  partake  a 
little  of  the  blessings  of  the  air,  and  opens  the 
junctures  of  her  imperfect  body,  and  curls  her 
little  rings  into  knots  and  combinations,  draw- 
ing up  her  tail  to  a  neighborhood  of  the  head's 
pleasure  and  motion ;  but  still  it  must  return  to 
abide  the  fate  of  its  own  nature,  and  dwell  and 
sleep  upon  the  dust :  so  are  the  hopes  of  a 
mortal  man  ;  he  opens  his  eyes  and  looks  upon 
fine  things  at  a  distance,  and  shuts  them  again 
with  weakness,  because  they  are  too  glorious 
to  behold;  and  the  man  rejoices  because  he 
hopes  fine  things  are  staying  for  him  ;  but  his 
heart  aches,  because  he  knows  there  are  a 
thousand  ways  to  fail  and  miss  of  those  glories : 
and  though  he  hopes,  yet  he  enjoys  not;  he 


240  THE  RESURRECTION. 

longs,  but  he  possesses  not ;  and  must  be  con- 
tent with  his  portion  of  dust,  and  being  "  a 
worm  and  no  man,"  must  lie  down  in  this  por- 
tion, before  he  can  receive  the  end  of  his  hopes, 
the  salvation  of  his  soul  in  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead.  For  as  death  is  the  end  of  our  lives, 
so  is  the  resurrection  the  end  of  our  hopes ; 
and  as  w^e  die  daily,  so  we  daily  hope.  But 
death,  which  is  the  end  of  our  life,  is  the  en- 
largement of  our  spirits  from  hope  to  certainty, 
from  uncertain  fears  to  certain  expectations, 
from  the  death  of  the  body  to  the  life  of  the 
soul. 


THE   RESURRECTION. 

TA/'HEN  man  was  not,  what  power,  what 
'  '  causes  made  him  to  be  ?  Whatsoever  it 
was,  it  did  then  as  great  a  work  as  to  raise  his 
body  to  the  same  being  again  ;  and  because 
we  know  not  the  method  of  nature's  secret 
changes,  and  how  we  can  be  fashioned  beneath 
"  in  secreto  terrce"  and  cannot  handle  and  dis- 
cern the  possibilities  and  seminal  powers  in  the 
ashes  of  dissolved  bones,  must  our  ignorance  in 
philosophy  be  put  in  balance  against  the  articles 
of  religion,  the  hopes  of  mankind,  the  faith  of 
nations,  and  the  truth  of  God?  And  are  our 
opinions  of  the  power  of  God  so  low,  that  our 


THE  RESURRECTION.  241 

understanding  must  be  liis  measiu'e,  and  he 
shall  be  confessed  to  do  nothmg  unless  it  be 
made  plain  in  our  philosophy  ?  Certainly  we 
have  a  low  opinion  of  God  unless  we  beheve 
he  can  do  more  things  than  we  can  understand. 
But  let  us  hear  St.  Paul's  demonstration  :  if 
the  corn  dies  and  lives  again ;  if  it  lays  its  body 
down,  suffers  alteration,  dissolution  and  death, 
but  at  the  spring  rises  again  in  the  verdm'e 
of  a  leaf,  in  the  fulness  of  the  ear,  in  the  kid- 
neys of  wheat ;  if  it  proceeds  from  little  to 
great,  from  nakedness  to  ornament,  from  emp- 
tiness to  plenty,  from  unity  to  multitude,  fi-om 
death  to  life  ;  be  a  Sadducee  no  more,  shame 
not  thy  understanding,  and  reproach  not  the 
weakness  of  thy  faith,  by  thinking  that  corn 
can  be  restored  to  life,  and  man  cannot;  espe- 
cially since  in  every  creature  the  obediential 
capacity  is  infinite,  and  cannot  admit  degrees  ; 
for  every  creature  can  be  anything  under  the 
power  of  God,  which  cannot  be  less  than  in- 
finite. 

But  we  find  no  obscure  footsteps  of  this 
mystery  even  amongst  the  heathens.  Pliny 
reports  that  Appion  the  grammarian,  by  the 
use  of  the  plant  Osiris,  called  Homer  fi'om  his 
grave  ;  and  in  Valerius  Maximus  we  find  that 
^lius  Tubero  returned  to  life  when  he  was 
seated  in  his  funeral  pile  ;  and  in  Plutarch,  that 
Soleus,  after  three  days'  burial,  did  live  ;  and 
16 


242  THE  RESURRECTION. 

in  Valerius,  that  Mv\s  Pamphilius  did  so  after 
ten  days.  And  it  was  so  commonly  believed 
that  Glaucus,  who  was  choked  in  a  vessel  of 
honey,  did  rise  again,  that  it  grew  to  a  prov- 
erb; "  Cflaucus  poto  melle  surrexit,^^  Glaucus 
having  tasted  honey,  died  and  lived  again.  I 
pretend  not  to  beheve  these  stories  to  be  true  ; 
but  from  these  instances  it  may  be  concluded, 
that  they  believed  it  possible  that  there  should 
be  a  resurrection  from  the  dead ;  and  natural 
reason  and  their  philosophy  did  not  wholly  de- 
stroy their  hopes  and  expectation  to  have  a 
portion  in  this  article. 

For  God,  knowing  that  the  great  hopes  of 
man,  that  the  biggest  endearment  of  religion, 
the  sanction  of  private  justice,  the  band  of  piety 
and  holy  courage,  does  wholly  derive  from  the 
article  of  the  resurrection,  was  pleased  not  only 
to  make  it  credible,  but  easy  and  familiar  to 
us ;  and  we  so  converse  every  night  with  the 
image  of  death,  that  every  morning  we  find  an 
argument  of  the  resurrection.  Sleep  and  death 
have  but  one  mother,  and  they  have  one  name 
in  common. 

Charnel-houses  are  but  cemeteries  or  sleep- 
ing-places, and  they  that  die  are  fallen  asleep, 
and  the  resurrection  is  but  an  awakening  and 
standing-up  from  sleep.  But  in  sleep  our  sen- 
ses are  as  fast  bound  by  nature  as  our  joints  are 
by  the  grave-clothes ;  and  unless  an  angel  of 


THE  RESURRECTION.  243 

God  awaken  us  everv^  morning,  we  must  con- 
fess ourselves  as  unable  to  converse  with  men 
as  we  now  are  afraid  to  die  and  to  converse 
with  spirits. 

I  will  not  now  insist  upon  the  story  of  the 
rising  bones  seen  every  year  in  Egypt,  nor  the 
pretences  of  the  chemists,  that  they  from  the 
ashes  of  flowers  can  reproduce  from  the  same 
materials  the  same  beauties  in  color  and  figure ; 
for  he  that  proves  a  certain  truth  fi'om  an 
uncertain  argument,  is  like  him  that  wears  a 
wooden  leg  when  he  hath  two  sound  legs  al- 
ready ;  it  hinders  his  going,  but  helps  him 
not.  The  truth  of  God  stands  not  in  need  of 
such  supporters;  nature  alone  is  a  sufficient 
preacher.  Night  and  day,  the  sun  returning 
to  the  same  point  of  east,  every  change  of 
species  in  the  same  matter,  generation  and 
coiTuption,  the  eagle  renewing  her  youth  and 
the  snake  her  skin,  the  silk- worm  and  the 
swallows,  the  care  of  posterity  and  the  care 
of  an  immortal  name,  winter  and  summer,  the 
fall  and  spring,  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
New,  the  words  of  Job  and  the  visions  of  the 
Prophets,  the  prayer  of  Ezekiel  for  the  resur- 
rection of  the  men  of  Ephraim  and  the  return 
of  Jonas  from  the  whale's  belly,  the  histories 
of  the  Jews  and  the  narratives  of  Christians, 
the  faith  of  believers  and  the  philosophy  of  the 
reasonable,  —  all  join  in  the  verification  of  this 


244  RESURRECTION  OF  SINNERS. 

mystery.  And  amongst  these  heaps  it  is  not 
of  the  least  consideration  that  there  was  never 
any  good  man,  who  having  been  taught  this 
article,  but  if  he  served  God,  he  also  relied 
upon  this.  If  he  believed  God,  he  believed 
this. 


RESURRECTION  OF   SINNERS. 

SO  have  we  seen  a  poor  condemned  criminal, 
the  weight  of  whose  sorrows  sitting  heavily 
upon  his  soul  hath  benumbed  him  into  a  deep 
sleep,  till  he  hath  forgotten  his  groans,  and  laid 
aside  his  deep  sighings ;  but  on  a  sudden  comes 
the  messenger  of  death  and  unbinds  the  poppy 
garland,  scatters  the  heavy  cloud  that  encircled 
his  miserable  head,  and  makes  him  return  to 
acts  of  life,  that  he  may  quickly  descend  into 
death  and  be  no  more.  So  is  every  sinner  that 
lies  down  in  shame  and  makes  his  grave  with 
the  wicked ;  he  shall  indeed  rise  again  and  be 
called  upon  by  the  voice  of  the  archangel ;  but 
then  he  shall  descend  into  sorrows  greater  than 
the  reason  and  the  patience  of  a  man,  weeping 
and  shrieking  louder  than  the  groans  of  the 
miserable  children  in  the  valley  of  Humom. 


THE  DIVINE  BOUNTY.  245 


THE   DIVINE   BOUNTY. 

THAT    our  desires   are  so  provided   for  by- 
nature  and  art,  by  ordinary  and  extraordi- 
nary, by  foresight  and  contingency,  according 
to  necessity  and   up  unto   conveniency,  until 
we  arrive  at  abundance,  is  a  chain  of  mercies 
larger  than  the  bow  in  the  clouds,  and  richer 
than  the  trees  of  Eden,  which  were  permitted 
to  feed  our  miserable   father.      Is  not  all  the 
earth  our  orchard  and  our  granary,  our  vine- 
yard and  our  garden  of  pleasure  ?     And  the 
face  of  the  sea  is  our  traffic,  and  the  bowels  of 
the  sea  is  our  "  vi'vanum,"  a  place  for  fish  to 
feed  us,  and  to  serve  some  other  collateral  ap- 
pendant needs  ;  and  all  the  face  of  heaven  is 
a  repository  for  influences  and  breath,  fruitfol 
showers   and   fair   refreshments.      And   when 
God   made   provision  for  his  other  creatures, 
he  gave  it  of  one  kind,  and  with  variety  no 
greater  than  the  changes  of  day  and  night,  one 
devouring  the  other,  or  sitting  down  with  his 
draught  of  blood,  or  Avalking  upon  his  portion 
of  crrass.     But  man  hath  all  the  food  of  beasts, 
and  all  the  beasts  themselves   that  are  fit  for 
food,  and  the  food  of  angels,  and  the  dew  of 
heaven,  and  the  fatness  of  the  earth  ;  and  every 
part  of  his  body  hath  a  provision  made  for  it. 
And  the  smoothness  of  the  olive  and  the  juice 


246  THE  DIVINE  BOUNTY. 

of  the  vine  refresh  the  heart,  and  make  the  face 
cheerful,  and  serve  the  ends  of  joy  and  the  fes- 
tivity of  man ;  and  are  not  only  to  cure  hunger 
or  to  allay  thirst,  but  appease  a  passion  and 
allay  a  sorrow.  It  is  an  infinite  variety  of 
meat  mth  which  God  furnishes  out  the  table 
of  mankind.  And  in  the  covering  our  sin  and 
clothing  our  nakedness,  God  passed  from  fig- 
leaves  to  the  skins  of  beasts,  from  aprons  to 
long  robes,  from  leather  to  wool,  and  from 
thence  to  the  warmth  of  furs  and  the  coolness 
of  silks.  He  hath  dressed  not  only  our  needs, 
but  hath  fitted  the  several  portions  of  the  year, 
and  made  us  to  go  dressed  like  our  mother, 
leaving  off  the  winter  sables  when  the  florid 
spring  appears,  and  as  soon  as  the  tulip  fades 
we  put  on  the  robe  of  summer,  and  then  shear 
our  sheep  for  winter :  and  God  uses  us  as  Jo- 
seph did  his  brother  Benjamin  ;  we  have  many 
changes  of  raiment,  and  our  mess  is  five  times 
bigger  than  the  provision  made  for  om-  brothers 
of  the  creation. 

But  that  which  I  shall  observe  in  this  whole 
affair  is,  that  there  are,  both  for  the  provision 
of  our  tables  and  the  rehef  of  our  sicknesses, 
so  many  miracles  of  providence  that  they  give 
plain  demonstration  what  relation  we  bear  to 
heaven.  And  the  poor  man  need  not  be  troub- 
led that  he  is  to  expect  his  daily  portion  after 
the  sun  is  up ;  for  he  hath  found  to  this  day 


THE  DIVINE  BOUNTY.  247 

he  was  not  deceived ;  and  then  he  may  rejoice, 
because  he  sees,  by  an  effective  probation,  that 
in  heaven  a  decree  was  made,  every  day  to  send 
him  provisions  of  meat  and  drink.  And  that  is 
a  mighty  mercy,  when  the  circles  of  heaven  are 
bowed  down  to  wrap  us  in  a  bosom  of  care  and 
nourishment,  and  the  wisdom  of  God  is  daily 
busied  to  serve  his  mercy,  as  his  mercy  serves 
our  necessities.  Does  not  God  plant  remedies 
there  where  the  diseases  are  most  popular  ? 
And  every  country  is  best  provided  against  its 
own  evils.  Is  not  the  rhubarb  found  where  the 
sun  most  corrupts  the  hver,  and  the  scabious 
by  the  shore  of  the  sea,  that  God  might  cure 
as  soon  as  he  wounds?  And  the  inhabitants 
may  see  then'  remedy  against  the  leprosy  and 
the  scurA^y,  before  they  feel  their  sickness.  And 
then  to  this  we  may  add  nature's  commons  and 
open  fields,  the  shores  of  rivers  and  the  strand 
of  the  sea,  the  unconfined  air,  the  wilderness 
that  hath  no  hedge  ;  and  that  in  these  every 
man  may  hunt  and  fowl  and  fish  respectively  ; 
and  that  God  sends  some  miracles  and  extraor- 
dinary blessings  so  for  the  public  good,  that  he 
will  not  endure  they  should  be  enclosed  and 
made  several.  Thus  he  is  pleased  to  dispense 
the  manna  of  Calabria,  the  medicinal  waters  of 
Germany,  the  muscles  at  Sluce  at  this  day, 
and  the  Egyptian  beans  in  the  marshes  of  Al- 
bania, and    the    salt   at  Troas  of  old ;    wliicli 


248  THE  DIVINE  BOUNTY. 

God,  to  defeat  the  covetousness  of  man,  and 
to  spread  his  mercy  over  the  face  of  the  indi- 
gent, as  the  sun  scatters  his  beams  over  the 
bosom  of  the  whole  earth,  did  so  order  that,  as 
long  as  every  man  was  permitted  to  partake, 
the  bosom  of  heaven  was  open ;  but  when  man 
gathered  them  into  single  handfiils  and  made 
them  impropriate,  God  gathered  his  hand  into 
his  bosom,  and  bound  the  heavens  with  ribs  of 
brass,  and  the  earth  with  decrees  of  iron,  and 
the  blessing  reverted  to  him  that  gave  it,  since 
they  might  not  receive  it  to  whom  it  was  sent. 
And  in  general,  this  is  the  excellency  of  this 
mercy  that  all  our  needs  are  certainly  supplied 
and  secured  by  a  promise  which  God  cannot 
break.  But  he  that  cannot  break  the  laws  of 
his  own  promises,  can  break  the  laws  of  nature 
that  he  may  perform  his  promise,  and  he  will 
do  a  miracle  rather  than  forsake  thee  in  thy 
needs :  so  that  our  security  and  the  relative 
mercy  is  bound  upon  us  by  all  the  power  and 
the  truth  of  God. 

Temporal  advantage  is  a  great  ingredient  in 
the  constitution  of  every  Christian  grace.  For 
so  the  richest  tissue  dazzles  the  beholder's  eye 
when  the  smi  reflects  upon  the  metal,  the  sil- 
ver and  the  gold  weaved  into  fantastic  imagery 
or  a  wealthy  plainness  ;  but  the  rich  wire  and 
shining  filaments  are  wrought  upon  cheaper 
silk,  the   spoil  of  worms  and  flies.    So  is  the 


THE  DIVINE  BOUNTY.  249 

embroidery  of  our  virtue.  The  glories  of  the 
spirit  dwell  upon  the  face  and  vestment,  upon 
the  fringes  and  the  borders,  and  there  we  see 
the  beryl  and  onyx,  the  jasper  and  the  sar- 
donyx, order  and  perfection,  love,  and  peace, 
and  joy,  mortification  of  the  passions  and  rav- 
ishment of  the  will,  adherences  to  God  and 
imitation  of  Christ,  reception  and  entertain- 
ment of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  longings  after 
heaven,  humility  and  chastity,  temperance  and 
sobriety.  These  make  the  frame  of  the  gar- 
ment, the  clothes  of  the  soul,  that  it  may  "  not 
be  found  naked  in  the  day  of  the  Lord's  vis- 
itation." But  through  these  rich  materials  a 
tliread  of  silk  is  drawn,  some  compliance  with 
worms  and  weaker  creatures,  something  that 
shall  please  our  bowels  and  make  the  lower 
man  to  rejoice ;  they  are  wrought  upon  secular 
content  and  material  satisfactions :  and  now  we 
cannot  be  happy  unless  we  be  pious ;  and  the 
rehgion  of  a  Christian  is  the  greatest  security, 
and  the  most  certain  instrument  of  making  a 
man  rich,  and  pleasing,  and  healthful,  and  wise, 
and  beloved,  in  the  whole  world. 


250  RESTRAINT   OF   THE  PASSIONS. 


SYMPATHY. 

A  FRIEND  shares  my  sorrow,  and  makes  it 
^■*-  but  a  moiety ;  but  he  swells  my  joy,  and 
makes  it  double.  For  so  two  channels  divide 
the  river,  and  lessen  it  into  rivulets,  and  make 
it  fordable,  and  apt  to  be  drunk  up  at  the  first 
revels  of  the  Sirian  star ;  but  two  torches  do 
not  divide,  but  increase  the  flame  :  and  though 
my  tears  are  the  sooner  dried  up  when  they 
run  upon  my  friend's  cheeks  in  the  furrows  of 
compassion,  yet  when  my  flame  hath  kindled 
his  lamp,  we  unite  the  glories  and  make  them 
radiant,  like  the  golden  candlesticks  that  burn 
before  the  throne  of  God,  because  they  shine 
by  numbers,  by  unions,  and  confederations  of 
hght  and  joy. 


EESTRAINT   OF  THE  PASSIONS. 

O  O  have  I  seen  a  busy  flame,  sitting  upon  a 
^  sullen  coal,  turn  its  point  to  all  the  angles 
and  portions  of  its  neighborhood,  and  reach  at 
a  heap  of  prepared  straw,  which,  hke  a  bold 
temptation,  called  it  to  a  restless  motion  and 
activity ;  but  either  it  was  at  too  big  a  distance, 
or  a  gentle  breath  from  heaven  diverted  the 


RESTRAINT   OF   THE  PASSIONS.  251 

sphere  and  the  ray  of  the  fire  to  the  other  side, 
and  so  prevented  the  violence  of  the  burning, 
till  the  flame  expired  in  a  weak  consumption, 
and  died  turning  into  smoke,  and  the  coolness 
of  death,  and  the  harmlessness  of  a  cinder. 
And  when  a  man's  desires  are  winged  with 
sails  and  a  lusty  wind  of  passion,  and  pass  on 
in  a  smooth  channel  of  opportunity,  God  often- 
times hinders  the  lust  and  the  impatient  desire 
from  passing  on  to  its  port  and  entering  into 
action,  by  a  sudden  thought,  by  a  little  remem- 
brance of  a  word,  by  a  fancy,  by  a  sudden  dis- 
ability, by  unreasonable  and  unhkely  fears,  by 
the  sudden  intervening  of  company,  by  the  very 
weariness  of  the  passion,  by  curiosity,  by  want 
of  health,  by  the  too  great  violence  of  the  desire, 
bursting  itself  with  its  ftilness  into  dissolution 
and  a  remiss  easiness,  by  a  sentence  of  Scrip- 
ture, by  the  reverence  of  a  good  man,  or  else 
by  the  proper  interventions  of  the  spirit  of  gi'ace 
chastising  the  crime,  and  representing  its  ap- 
pendant mischiefs,  and  its  constituent  disorder 
and  irregularity  :  and  after  all  this,  the  very 
ansTiish  and  trouble  of  being;  defeated  in  the 
purpose  hath  rolled  itself  into  so  much  uneasi- 
ness and  unquiet  reflections,  that  the  man  is 
grown  ashamed  and  vexed  into  more  sober 
counsels. 


252  THE  sours   MEM  on  Y. 


THE    SOUL'S   MEMORY. 

/^  OD  will  restore  the  soul  to  the  body,  and 
"  raise  the  body  to  such  a  perfection  that  it 
shall  be  an  organ  fit  to  praise  him  upon  ;  it 
shall  be  made  spiritual  to  minister  to  the  soul, 
when  the  soul  is  turned  into  a  spirit ;  then  the 
soul  shall  be  brought  forth  by  angels  from  her 
incomparable  and  easy  bed,  from  her  rest  in 
Christ's  holy  bosom,  and  be  made  perfect  in 
her  being,  and  in  all  her  operations.  And  this 
shall  first  appear  by  that  perfection  which  the 
soul  shall  receive  as  instrumental  to  the  last 
judgment;  for  then  she  shall  see  clearly  all  the 
records  of  this  world,  all  the  register  of  her 
own  memory.  For  all  that  we  did  in  this  life 
is  laid  up  in  our  memories ;  and  though  dust 
and  forgetfulness  be  drawn  upon  them,  yet 
when  God  shall  lift  us  from  our  dust,  then  shall 
appear  clearly  all  that  we  have  done,  written 
in  the  tables  of  our  conscience,  which  is  the 
soul's  memory.  We  see  many  times,  and  in 
many  instances,  that  a  great  memory  is  hin- 
dered and  put  out,  and  we  thu'ty  years  after 
come  to  think  of  something  that  lay  so  long 
under  a  curtain ;  we  think  of  it  suddenly,  and 
without  a  hne  of  deduction  or  proper  conse- 
quence. And  all  those  famous  memories  of 
Simonides  and  Theodectes,  of  Hortensius  and 


FEMALE  PIETY.  253 

Seneca,  of  Sceptiiis,  Metrodorus,  and  Camea- 
des,  of  Cyneas  the  ambassador  of  Pyrrlius,  are 
only  the  records  better  kept,  and  less  disturbed 
by  accident  and  disease.  For  even  the  memory 
of  Herod's  son,  of  Athens,  of  BathyUus,  and 
the  dullest  person  now  ahve,  is  so  great,  and  by 
God  made  so  sure  a  record  of  all  that  ever  he 
did,  that  as  soon  as  ever  God  shall  but  tune  oiu- 
instrument,  and  draw  the  curtains,  and  but 
light  up  the  candle  of  immortahty,  there  we 
shall  find  it  all,  there  we  shall  see  all,  and  the 
whole  world  shall  see  all.  Then  we  shall  be 
made  fit  to  converse  with  God  after  the  man- 
ner of  spu'its ;  we  shall  be  like  to  angels. 


FEMALE   PIETY. 

T  HAVE  seen  a  female  rehgion  that  wholly 
-*■  dwelt  upon  the  face  and  tongue  ;  that,  like 
a  wanton  and  an  midressed  tree,  spends  all  its 
juice  in  suckers  and  irregular  branches,  in 
leaves  and  gum  ;  and  after  all  such  goodly  out- 
sides,  you  should  never  eat  an  apple,  or  be 
delighted  with  the  beauties  or  the  perfumes  of 
a  hopeful  blossom.  But  the  religion  of  this 
excellent  lady  was  of  another  constitution  ;  it 
took  root  downward  in  humility,  and  brought 
forth  fruit  upward  in  the  substantial  graces  of 
a  Christian,  in  charity  and  justice,  in  chastity 


254  FEMALE  PIETY. 

and  modesty,  in  fair  friendships  and  sweetness 
of  society.  She  had  not  very  much  of  the 
forms  and  outsides  of  godhness,  but  she  was 
hugely  careful  for  the  power  of  it,  for  the 
moral,  essential,  and  useful  parts,  such  which 
would  make  Ijer  be,  not  seem  to  be,  religious. 

In  all  her  religion,  in  all  her  actions  of  rela- 
tion towards  God,  she  had  a  strange  evenness 
and  untroubled  passage,  sliding  toward  her 
ocean  of  God  and  of  infinity  with  a  certain  and 
silent  motion.  So  have  I  seen  a  river  deep 
and  smooth  passing  with  a  still  foot  and  a  sober 
face,  and  paying  to  the  '■'■Jiscus,"  the  great  ex- 
chequer of  the  sea,  the  prince  of  all  the  watery 
bodies,  a  tribute  large  and  fiill ;  and  hard  by  it 
a  little  brook  skipping  and  making  a  noise  upon 
its  unequal  and  neighbor  bottom  ;  and  after  all 
its  talking  and  braggart  motion,  it  paid  to  its 
common  audit  no  more  than  the  revenues  of  a 
httle  cloud,  or  a  contemptible  vessel.  So  have 
I  sometimes  compared  the  issues  of  her  religion 
to  the  solemnities  and  famed  outsides  of  an- 
other's piety.  It  dwelt  upon  her  spirit,  and 
was  incorporated  with  the  periodical  work  of 
every  day :  she  did  not  believe  that  religion 
was  intended  to  minister  to  fame  and  reputa- 
tion, but  to  pardon  of  sins,  to  the  pleasure  of 
God,  and  the  salvation  of  souls.  For  religion 
is  hke  the  breath  of  heaven :  if  it  goes  abroad 
into  the  open  air,  it  scatters  and  dissolves  like 


FEMALE  PIETY.  255 

camphor  ;  but  if  it  enters  into  a  secret  hollow- 
ness,  into  a  close  conveyance,  it  is  strong  and 
mighty,  and  comes  forth  with  vigor  and  great 
effect  at  the  other  end,  at  the  other  side  of  this 
life,  in  the  days  of  death  and  judgment. 

The  other  appendage  of  her  religion,  which 
also  was  a  great  ornament  to  all  the  parts  of 
her  life,  was  a  rare  modesty  and  humility  of 
spirit,  a  confident  despising  and  undervaluing 
of  herself.  For  though  she  had  the  greatest 
judgment,  and  the  gi'eatest  experience  of  things 
and  persons  that  I  ever  yet  knew  in  a  person 
of  her  youth  and  sex  and  circumstances,  yet, 
as  if  she  knew  nothing  of  it,  she  had  the  mean- 
est opinion  of  herself;  and  like  a  fair  taper, 
when  she  shmed  to  all  the  room,  yet  round 
about  her  own  station  she  had  cast  a  shadow 
and  a  cloud,  and  she  shined  to  eveiybody  but 
herself.  But  the  perfectness  of  her  prudence 
and  excellent  parts  could  not  be  hid ;  and  all 
her  humihty  and  arts  of  concealment  made 
the  virtues  more  amiable  and  illustrious.  For 
as  pride  siillies  the  beauty  of  the  fairest  virtues 
and  makes  our  understanding  but  like  the  craft 
and  learning  of  a  devil,  so  humility  is  the 
gi'eatest  eminency  and  art  of  publication  in  the 
whole  world ;  and  she,  in  all  her  arts  of  secrecy 
and  hiding  her  worthy  things,  was  but  "  like 
one  that  hideth  the  wind,  and  covers  the  oint- 
ment of  her  right  hand." 


256  FEMALE  PIETY. 

Slie  lived  as  we  all  should  live,  and  she  died 
as  I  fain  Avould  die.  I  pi'ay  God  I  may  feel 
those  mercies  on  my  death-bed  that  she  felt, 
and  that  I  may  feel  the  same  effect  of  my  re- 
pentance which  she  feels  of  the  many  degrees 
of  her  innocence.  Such  was  her  death,  that 
she  did  not  die  too  soon  ;  and  her  life  was  so 
useful  and  excellent,  that  she  could  not  have 
lived  too  long.  And  as  now  in  the  grave  it 
shall  not  be  mquired  concerning  her,  how  long 
she  lived,  but  how  well,  so  to  us  who  live  after 
her,  to  suffer  a  longer  calamity,  it  may  be  some 
ease  to  our  sorrows,  and  some  guide  to  our 
lives,  and  some  security  to  our  conditions,  to 
consider  that  God  hath  brought  the  piety  of  a 
young  lady  to  the  early  rewards  of  a  never- 
ceasing  and  never-dying  eternity  of  glory :  and 
we  also,  if  we  live  as  she  did,  shall  partake  of 
the  same  glories  ;  not  only  having  the  honor 
of  a  good  name,  and  a  dear  and  honored  mem- 
ory, but  the  glories  of  these  glories,  the  end 
of  all  excellent  labors  and  all  prudent  coun- 
sels and  all  holy  religion,  even  the  salvation 
of  our  souls,  in  that  day  when  all  the  saints, 
and  among  them  this  excellent  woman,  shall 
be  shown  to  all  the  world  to  have  done  more, 
and  more  excellent  things,  than  we  know  of  or 
can  describe.  Death  consecrates  and  makes 
sacred  that  person  whose  excellency  was  such 
that  they  that  are  not  displeased  at  the  death 


THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE.  257 

cannot  dispraise  the  life  ;  but  they  that  mourn 
sadlj,  think  they  can  never  commend  suffi- 
ciently. 


THE   SHORTNESS   OF   LIFE. 

A  MAN  is  a  bubble,"  said  the  Greek  proverb ; 
■^^  which  Lucian  represents  with  advantages, 
and  its  proper  circumstances,  to  this  purpose, 
saying  :  All  the  world  is  a  storm,  and  men  rise 
up  in  their  several  generations  like  bubbles  de- 
scending "  a  Jove  'pluvio^''  from  God  and  the 
dew  of  heaven,  from  a  tear  and  drop  of  rain, 
from  nature  and  providence ;  and  some  of  these 
instantly  sink  into  the  deluge  of  their'  first  par- 
ent, and  are  hidden  in  a  sheet  of  Avater,  hav- 
ing had  no  other  business  in  the  world  but  to 
be  born,  that  they  might  be  able  to  die  ;  others 
float  up  and  down  two  or  three  turns,  and  sud- 
denly disappear  and  give  their  place  to  others  ; 
and  they  that  live  longest  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters  are  in  perpetual  motion,  restless  and 
uneasy,  and  being  cinashed  with  a  great  drop 
of  a  cloud,  sink  into  flatness  and  a  froth ;  the 
change  not  being  great,  it  being  hai'dly  pos- 
sible it  should  be  more  a  nothino;  than  it  was 
before. 

So  is  every  man :  he  is  bom  in  vanity  and 
17 


2'; 8  THE  SHORTNESS    OF  LIFE. 

sin ;  he  comes  into  the  world  hke  morning 
mushrooms,  soon  thrusting  up  their  heads  into 
the  air,  and  conversing  with  their  kindred  of 
the  same  production,  and  as  soon  they  turn 
unto  dust  and  forgetfiihiess  ;  some  of  them 
without  any  other  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the 
workl,  but  that  they  made  their  parents  a  httle 
glad  and  very  sorrowful ;  others  ride  longer  m 
the  storm,  it  may  be  until  seven  years  of  van- 
ity be  expired,  and  then  peradventure  the  sun 
shines  hot  upon  their  heads,  and  they  fall  into 
the  shades  below,  into  the  cover  of  death  and 
darkness  of  the  grave  to  hide  them.  But  if 
the  bubble  stands  the  shock  of  a  bigger  drop 
and  outlives  the  chances  of  a  child,  of  a  care- 
less nurse,  of  drowning  in  a  pail  of  water,  of 
being  overlaid  by  a  sleepy  servant,  or  such 
httle  accidents,  then  the  young  man  dances 
like  a  bubble  empty  and  gay,  and  shines  like  a 
dove's  neck,  or  the  image  of  a  rainbow,  which 
hath  no  substance,  and  whose  very  imagery 
and  colors  are  fantastical;  and  so  he  dances 
out  the  gayety  of  his  youth,  and  is  all  the 
wliile  in  a  storm,  and  endures  only  because 
he  is  not  knocked  on  the  head  by  a  drop  of 
bigger  rain,  or  crushed  by  the  pressure  of  a 
load  of  indigested  meat,  or  quenched  by  the 
disorder  of  an  ill-placed  humor;  and  to  pre- 
serve a  man  alive,  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
chances  and  hostilities,  is  as  great  a  mu'acle  as 


THE  SHORTNESS    OF  LIFE.  259 

to  create  him;  to  preserve  him  from  rushing 
into  nothing,  and  at  first  to  draw  him  up  from 
nothing,  were  equally  the  issues  of  an  almighty 
power. 

And  therefore  the  wise  men  of  the  world 
have  contended  who  shall  best  fit  man's  con- 
dition with  words  signif)ang  his  vanity  and 
snort  abode.  Homer  calls  a  man  "a  leaf,"  the 
smallest,  the  weakest  piece  of  a  short-lived, 
unsteady  plant.  Pindar  calls  him  "  the  dream 
of  a  shadow  "  ;  another,  "  the  dream  of  a  shad- 
ow of  smoke."  But  St.  James  spake  by  a 
more  excellent  spirit,  saying,  "  Our  life  is  but 
a  vapor,"  drawn  from  the  earth  by  a  celestial 
influence,  made  of  smoke,  or  the  fighter  parts 
of  water,  tossed  with  eveiy  wind,  moved  by 
the  motion  of  a  superior  body,  without  \drtue 
in  itself,  lifted  up  on  high  or  left  below,  accord- 
ing as  it  pleases  the  sun,  its  foster-father.  But 
it  is  lighter  yet.  It  is  but  "  appearing  " ;  a 
fantastic  vapor,  an  apparition,  nothing  real ;  it 
is  not  so  much  as  a  mist,  not  the  matter  of 
a  shower,  nor  substantial  enough  to  make  a 
cloud  ;  but  it  is  like  Cassiopeia's  chaii*,  or 
Pelops's  shoulder,  or  the  circles  of  heaven,  "  ap- 
pearing," for  which  you  cannot  have  a  word 
that  can  signify  a  verier  nothing. 

And  yet  the  expression  is  one  degree  more 
made  diminutive  ;  a  vapor,  and  fantastical,  or 
a  mere  appearance,  and  this  but  "for  a  httle 


260  THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE. 

while  "  neither;  the  very  dream,  the  phantasm 
disappears  in  a  small  time,  "  hke  the  shadow 
that  departeth,  or  like  a  tale  that  is  told,  or  as 
a  dream  when  one  awaketh."  A  man  is  so 
vain,  so  unfixed,  so  perishing  a  creature,  that 
he  cannot  long  last  in  the  scene  of  fancy ;  a 
man  goes  off  and  is  forgotten  like  the  dream 
of  a  distracted  person.  The  sum  of  all  is  this : 
that  thou  art  a  man,  than  whom  there  is  not  in 
the  world  any  greater  instance  of  heights  and 
declensions,  of  lights  and  shadows,  of  misery 
and  folly,  of  laughter  and  tears,  of  groans  and 
death. 

And  because  this  consideration  is  of  great 
usefulness  and  great  necessity  to  many  pur- 
poses of  wisdom  and  the  spirit,  all  the  succession 
of  time,  all  the  changes  in  nature,  all  the  vari- 
eties of  light  and  darkness,  the  thousand  thou- 
sands of  accidents  in  the  world,  and  eveiy  con- 
tingency to  every  man  and  to  every  creature 
doth  preach  our  funeral  sermon,  and  calls  us  to 
look  and  see  how  the  old  sexton.  Time,  throws 
up  the  earth  and  digs  a  grave  where  we  must 
lay  our  sins  or  our  sorrows,  and  sow  our  bodies, 
till  they  rise  again  in  a  fair  or  in  an  intoler- 
able eternity.  Every  revolution  which  the  sun 
makes  about  the  world  divides  between  life 
and  death ;  and  death  possesses  both  those 
portions  by  the  next  morrow ;  and  we  are 
dead  to   all  those  months  which  we  have  al- 


THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE.  261 

ready  lived,  and  we  shall  never  live  them 
over  again ;  and  stUl  God  makes  little  periods 
of  our  age. 

First  we  change  our  world  when  we  are 
born  and  feel  the  warmth  of  the  sun.  Then 
we  sleep  and  enter  into  the  image  of  death,  in 
which  state  we  are  unconcerned  in  all  the 
changes  of  the  world ;  and  if  our  mothers  or 
our  nurses  die,  or  a  wild  boar  destroy  our  vine- 
yards, or  our  king  be  sick,  we  regard  it  not, 
but  durino;  that  state  are  as  disinterested  as  if 
our  eyes  Avere  closed  with  the  clay  that  weeps 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  At  the  end  of 
seven  years  our  teeth  fall  and  die  before  us, 
representing  a  formal  prologue  to  a  tragedy ; 
and  still  every  seven  years  it  is  odd  but  we 
shall  finish  the  last  scene  ;  and  when  nature, 
or  chance,  or  vice  takes  our  body  in  pieces, 
weakening  some  parts  and  loosening  others,  we 
taste  the  grave,  and  the  solemnities  of  our  own 
funerals,  first,  in  those  parts  that  ministered  to 
vice,  and  next,  in  them  that  served  for  orna- 
ment ;  and  in  a  short  time  even  they  that 
served  for  necessity  become  useless  and  en- 
tansled*  like  the  wheels  of  a  broken  clock. 

Baldness  is  but  a  dressing  to  our  funerals, 
the  proper  ornament  of  mourning,  and  of  a 
person  entered  very  far  into  the  regions  and 
possession  of  death ;  and  we  have  many  more 
of  the    same   signification  ;    gray  hairs,  rotten 


262  THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE. 

teeth,  dim  eyes,  trembling  joints,  short  breath, 
stiff  hmbs,  wrinkled  skin,  short  memory,  de- 
cayed appetite.  Every  day's  necessity  calls 
for  a  reparation  of  that  portion  which  death 
fed  on  all  night,  when  we  lay  in  his  lap  and 
slept  in  his  outer  chambers.  The  very  spirits 
of  a  man  prey  upon  the  daily  portion  of  bread 
and  flesh,  and  every  meal  is  a  rescue  fi'om  one 
death,  and  lays  up  for  another ;  and  while  we 
think  a  thought  we  die  ;  and  the  clock  strikes, 
and  reckons  on  our  portion  of  eternity  ;  we 
form  our  words  with  the  breath  of  our  nostrils ; 
we  have  the  less  to  live  upon  for  every  word 
we  speak. 

Thus  nature  calls  us  to  meditate  of  death  by 
those  things  which  are  the  instruments  of  act- 
ing it;  and  God,  by  all  the  variety  of  his  prov- 
idence, makes  us  see  death  everywhere,  in  all 
variety  of  circumstances,  and  dressed  up  for 
all  the  fancies  and  the  expectation  of  every 
single  person.  Nature  hath  given  us  one  har- 
vest every  year,  but  deatli  hath  two ;  and  the 
spring  and  the  autumn  send  throngs  of  men 
and  women  to  charnel-houses ;  and  all  the 
summer  long,  men  are  recovering  from  the 
evils  of  the  spring,  till  the  dog-days  come  and 
the  Sirian  star  makes  the  summer  deadly;  and 
the  fruits  of  autumn  are  laid  up  for  all  the 
year's  provision,  and  the  man  that  gathers 
them  eats   and    surfeits    and   dies,  and   needs 


THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE.  263 

them  not,  and  himself  is  laid  up  for  eternity  ; 
and  he  that  escapes  till  winter,  only  stays  for 
another  opportunity,  which  the  distempers  of 
that  quarter  minister  to  him  with  great  variety. 
Thus  death  reigns  in  all  the  portions  of  our 
time.  The  autumn  with  its  fruits  provides  dis- 
orders for  us,  and  the  winter's  cold  turns  them 
into  sharp  diseases,  and  the  spring  brings  flow- 
ers to  strew  our  hearse,  and  the  summer  oives 
green  turf  and  brambles  to  bind  upon  our 
graves.  Calentures  and  smfeit,  cold  and  agues, 
are  the  four  quarters  of  the  year,  and  all  minis- 
ter to  death  ;  and  vou  can  2:0  no  whither  but 
you  tread  upon  a  dead  man's  bones. 

The  wild  fellow  in  Petronius  that  escaped 
upon  a  broken  table  fi-om  the  fiiries  of  a  ship- 
wreck, as  he  was  sunning  himself  upon  the 
rocky  shore  espied  a  man  rolling  upon  his 
floating  bed  of  waves,  ballasted  Avith  sand  in 
the  folds  of  his  garment,  and  carried  by  his 
civil  enemy,  the  sea,  towards  the  shore  to 
find  a  grave  ;  and  it  cast  him  into  some  sad 
thoughts  :  that  peradventure  this  man's  wife 
in  some  part  of  the  continent,  safe  and  wann, 
looks  next  month  for  the  good  man's  return  ; 
or  it  may  be  his  son  knows  nothing  of  the  tem- 
pest ;  or  his  father  thinks  of  that  affectionate 
kiss,  which  still  is  warm  upon  the  good  old 
man's  cheek,  ever  since  he  took  a  kind  fare- 
well, and    he  weeps    Avith  joy    to    think    how 


264  THE  SHORTNESS    OF  LIFE. 

blessed  he  shall  be  when  his  beloved  boy 
returns  into  the  circle  of  his  father's  arms. 
These  are  the  thoughts  of  mortals,  this  the 
end  and  sum  of  all  their  designs  ;  a  dark 
night  and  an  ill  guide,  a  boisterous  sea  and  a 
broken  cable,  a  hard  rock  and  a  rough  wind, 
dashed  in  pieces  the  fortune  of  a  whole  family ; 
and  they  that  shall  weep  loudest  for  the  acci- 
dent are  not  yet  entered  into  the  storm,  and 
yet  have  suffered  shipwreck.  Then  looking 
upon  the  carcass,  he  knew  it,  and  found  it  to 
be  the  master  of  the  ship,  who  the  day  before 
cast  up  the  accounts  of  his  patrimony  and  his 
trade,  and  named  the  day  when  he  thovight  to 
be  at  home.  See  how  the  man  swims  who 
was  so  angry  two  days  since  ;  his  passions  are 
becalmed  by  the  storm,  his  accounts  are  cast 
up,  his  cares  at  an  end,  his  voyage  done, 
and  his  gains  are  the  strange  events  of  death, 
which,  whether  they  be  good  or  evil,  the  men 
that  are  alive  seldom  trouble  themselves  con- 
cerning the  interest  of  the  dead. 

But  seas  alone  do  not  break  our  vessel  in 
pieces ;  everywhere  we  may  be  shipwrecked. 
A  vahant  general,  when  he  is  to  reap  the  har- 
vest of  his  crowns  and  triumphs,  fights  unpros- 
perously,  or  falls  into  a  fever  with  joy  and 
wine,  and  changes  his  laurel  into  cypress,  his 
triumphant  chariot  to  a  hearse  ;  dying  the 
night   before   he  was    appointed   to   perish   in 


THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE.  265 

the  drunkenness  of  his  festival  joys.  It  was 
a  sad  arrest  of  the  loosenesses  and  wilder  feasts 
of  the  French  court,  when  their  king,  Henry 
the  Second,  was  killed  really  by  the  sportive 
image  of  a  fight.  And  many  brides  have  died 
under  the  hands  of  paranymphs  and  maidens, 
dressing  them  for  the  new  and  undiscerned 
chains  of  marriage.  Some  have  been  paying 
their  vows,  and  giving  thanks  for  a  prosperous 
return  to  their  own  house,  and  the  roof  hath 
descended-  upon  their  heads,  and  turned  their 
loud  rehgion  into  the  deeper  sUence  of  a  grave. 
And  how  many  teeming  mothers  have  rejoiced, 
and  pleased  themselves  in  becoming  channels 
of  blessing  to  a  family ;  and  the  midwife  hath 
quickly  bound  their  heads  and  feet,  and  car- 
ried them  forth  to  bvirial.  Or  else  the  birth- 
day of  an  heir  hath  seen  the  coifin  of  the  father 
brought  into  the  house,  and  the  divided  mother 
hath  been  forced  to  travail  twice,  with  a  pain- 
ful birth,  and  a  sadder  death. 

There  is  no  state,  no  accident,  no  circum- 
stance of  our  life  but  it  hath  been  soured  by 
some  sad  instance  of  a  dying  friend  ;  a  friendly 
meeting  often  ends  in  some  sad  mischance  and 
makes  an  eternal  parting ;  and  when  the  poet 
^schylus  was  sitting  under  the  walls  of  his 
house,  an  eagle  hovering  over  his  bald  head 
mistook  it  for  a  stone,  and  let  fall  his  oyster, 
hoping  there  to  break  the  shell,  but  pierced  the 
poor  man's  skull. 


266  THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE. 

Death  meets  us  everywhere,  and  is  pro- 
cured by  every  instrument,  and  in  all  chances, 
and  enters  in  at  many  doors  ;  by  violence  and 
secret  influence,  by  the  aspect  of  a  star  and  the 
scent  of  a  mist,  by  the  emissions  of  a  cloud  and 
the  meeting  of  a  vapor,  by  the  fall  of  a  chariot 
and  the  stumbling  at  a  stone,  by  a  full  meal  or 
an  empty  stomach,  by  watching  at  the  wine 
or  by  watching  at  prayers,  by  the  sun  or  the 
moon,  by  a  heat  or  a  cold,  by  sleepless  nights  or 
sleeping  days,  by  water  frozen  into  the  hardness 
and  sharpness  of  a  dagger,  or  water  thawed 
into  the  floods  of  a  river,  by  a  hair  or  a  raisin, 
by  violent  motion  or  sitting  still,  by  severity  or 
dissolution,  by  God's  mercy  or  God's  anger,  by 
everything  in  providence  and  everything  in 
manners,  by  everything  in  nature  and  by 
everything  in  chance.  "  Eripitur  persona, 
manet  res'''' ;  we  take  pains  to  heap  up  things 
useful  to  our  life,  and  get  our  death  in  the 
purchase  ;  and  the  person  is  snatched  away, 
and  the  goods  remain.  And  all  this  is  the 
law  and  constitution  of  nature  ;  it  is  a  punish- 
ment to  our  sins,  the  unalterable  event  of 
providence,  and  the  decree  of  heaven.  The 
chains  that  confine  us  to  this  condition  are 
strong  as  destiny  and  immutable  as  the  eternal 
laws  of  God. 

I  have  conversed  with  some  men  who  re- 
joiced in  the  death  or  calamity  of  others,  and 


TEE  SHORTNESS    OF  LIFE.  267 

accounted  it  as  a  judgment  upon  tliem  for  being 
on  the  other  side  and  against  them  in  the  con- 
tention ;  but  within  the  revolution  of  a  few 
months,  the  same  man  met  with  a  more  un- 
easy and  unhandsome  death  ;  which,  when  I 
saw,  I  wept  and  was  afraid  ;  for  I  knew  it 
must  be  so  with  all  men,  for  we  also  shall 
die,  and  end  our  quarrels  and  contentions  bj 
passing  to  a  final  sentence. 

It  is  a  mighty  change  that  is  made  by  the 
death  of  every  person,  and  it  is  visible  to  us 
who  are  ahve.  Reckon  but  fi'om  the  spright- 
fulness  of  youth  and  the  fair  cheeks  and  the 
full  eyes  of  childhood,  from  the  ^^gorousness 
and  strong  flexure  of  the  joints  of  five-and- 
twenty  to  the  hollowness  and  dead  paleness, 
to  the  loathsomeness  and  horror  of  a  three 
days'  burial,  and  we  shall  perceive  the  distance 
to  be  very  great  and  very  strange.  But  so 
have  I  seen  a  rose  newly  springing  from  the 
clefls  of  its  hood,  and  at  first  it  was  as  fair  as 
the  morning,  and  full  with  the  dew  of  heaven 
as  a  lamb's  fleece  ;  but  when  a  rvider  breath 
had  forced  open  its  virgin  modesty  and  dis- 
mantled its  too  youthful  and  unripe  retire- 
ments, it  began  to  put  on  darkness  and  to 
decline  to  softness  and  the  symptoms  of  a 
sickly  age ;  it  bowed  the  head  and  broke  its 
stalk,  and  at  night,  ha\nng  lost  some  of  its 
leaves  and  all  its  beautv,  it  fell  into  the  portion 
of  weeds  and  outworn  faces. 


268  THE  SHORTNESS    OF  LIFE. 

The  same  is  the  portion  of  every  man  and 
every  woman  ;  the  heritage  of  worms  and  ser- 
pents, rottenness  and  cold  dishonor,  and  our 
beauty  so  changed  that  our  acquaintance  quick- 
ly know  us  not ;  and  that  change  mingled  with 
so  much  horror,  or  else  meets  so  with  our  fears 
and  weak  discoursings,  that  they  who  six  hours 
ago  tended  upon  us,  either  with  charitable  or 
ambitious  services,  cannot  without  some  regret 
stay  in  the  room  alone  where  the  body  lies 
stripped  of  its  life  and  honor.  I  have  read  of 
a  fair  young  German  gentleman,  who,  living, 
often  refused  to  be  pictured,  but  put  off  the 
importunity  of  his  friends'  desire  by  giving 
way  that  after  a  few  days'  bvirial  they  might 
send  a  painter  to  his  vault,  and,  if  they  saw 
cause  for  it,  draw  the  image  of  his  death  unto 
the  hfe.  They  did  so,  and  found  his  face  half 
eaten,  and  his  midriff  and  backbone  full  of  ser- 
pents ;  and  so  he  stands  pictvired  amongst  his 
armed  ancestors.  So  does  the  fairest  beauty 
change  ;  and  it  will  be  as  bad  with  you  and 
me ;  and  then  what  servants  shall  we  have  to 
wait  upon  us  in  the  grave  ?  what  friends  to 
visit  us  ?  what  officious  people  to  cleanse  away 
the  moist  and  unwholesome  cloud  reflected 
upon  our  faces  from  the  sides  of  the  weeping 
vaults,  which  are  the  longest  weepers  for  our 
ftineral  ? 

A  man  may  read  a  sermon,   the  best  and 


THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE.  269 

most  passionate  that  ever  man  preached,  if  he 
shall  but  enter  into  the  sepulchres  of  kings. 
In  the  same  Escurial  where  the  Spanish  princes 
live  in  greatness  and  power,  and  decree  war 
or  peace,  they  have  wisely  placed  a  cemetery, 
where  their  ashes  and  their  glory  shall  sleep 
till  time  shall  be  no  more ;  and  where  our 
kings  have  been  crowned,  their  ancestors  lie 
interred,  and  they  must  walk  over  their  grand- 
sire's  head  to  take  his  crown.  Thei^e  is  an 
acre  sown  with  royal  seed,  the  copy  of  the 
greatest  change,  from  rich  to  naked,  from 
ceiled  roofs  to  arched  coffins,  from  living  like 
gods  to  die  like  men.  There  is  enovigh  to  cool 
the  flames  of  lust,  to  abate  the  heights  of  pride, 
to  appease  the  itch  of  covetous  desires,  to  sully 
and  dash  out  the  dissembling  colors  of  a  lustful, 
artificial,  and  imaginary  beauty.  There  the 
warlike  and  the  peaceful,  the  fortunate  and  the 
miserable,  the  beloved  and  the  despised  princes 
mingle  their  dust,  and  pay  down  their  symbol 
of  mortality,  and  tell  all  the  Avorld  that,  when 
we  die,  our  ashes  shall  be  equal  to  kings',  and 
our  accounts  easier,  and  our  pains  for  our 
crowns  shall  be  less. 

Let  no  man  extend  his  thouo-hts,  or  let  his 
hopes  wander  towards  future  and  far-distant 
events  and  accidental  contingencies.  This  day 
is  mine  and  yours,  but  ye  know  not  what  shall 
be  on  the  morrow  :  and  every  morning  creeps 


270  THE  SHORTNESS   OF  LIFE. 

out  of  a  dark  cloud,  leavino;  behind  it  an  igno- 
ranee  and  silence  deep  as  midnight,  and  undis- 
cerned  as  are  the  phantasms  that  make  a  chris- 
om  child  to  smile  ;  so  that  we  cannot  discern 
what  comes  hereafter,  unless  we  had  a  light 
from  heaven  brighter  than  the  vision  of  an 
angel,  even  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  Without 
revelation  we  cannot  tell  whether  we  shall  eat 
to-morrow,  or  whether  a  squinancy  shall  choke 
us  ;  and  it  is  written  in  the  unrevealed  folds  of 
divine  predestination,  that  many  who  are  this 
day  alive  shall  to-morrow  be  laid  upon  the  cold 
earth,  and  the  women  shall  weep  over  their 
shroud,  and  dress  them  for  their  funeral. 

This  descending  to  the  grave  is  the  lot  of 
all  men ;  neither  doth  God  respect  the  person 
of  any  man.  The  rich  is  not  protected  for 
favor,  nor  the  poor  for  pity ;  the  old  man  is  not 
reverenced  for  his  age,  nor  the  infant  regarded 
for  his  tenderness  ;  youth  and  beauty,  learn- 
ing and  prudence,  wit  and  strength  lie  down 
equally  in  the  dishonors  of  the  grave.  All 
men,  and  all  natures,  and  all  persons  resist  the 
addresses  and  solemnities  of  death,  and  strive 
to  preserve  a  miserable  and  unpleasant  life ; 
and  yet  they  all  sink  down  and  die.  For  so 
have  I  seen  the  pillars  of  a  building  assisted 
with  artificial  props  bending  under  the  pres- 
sure of  a  roof,  and  jDertinaciously  resisting  the 
infallible  and  prepared  ruin,  till  the  determined 


THE  MISERIES   OF  LIFE.  271 

day  conies,  and  then  the  burden  sunk  upon  the 
pillars,  and  disordered  the  aids  and  auxiliary 
rafters  into  a  common  ruin  and  a  ruder  erave. 
So  are  the  desires  and  weak  arts  of  man ;  with 
little  aids  and  assistances  of  care  and  physic  we 
strive  to  support  our  decaying  bodies,  and  to 
put  off  the  evil  day  ;  but  quickly  that  day  will 
come,  and  then  neither  angels  nor  men  can 
rescue  us  from  our  grave  ;  but  the  roof  sinks 
down  upon  the  walls,  and  the  walls  descend  to 
the  foundation  ;  and  the  beauty  of  the  face 
and  the  dishonors  of  the  belly,  the  discerning 
head  and  the  servile  feet,  the  thinkincr  heart 
and  the  working  hand,  the  eyes  and  the  guts 
together  shall  be  crushed  into  the  confusion  of 
a  heap,  and  dwell  with  creatures  of  an  equivo- 
cal production,  with  worms  and  serpents,  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  our  own  bones,  in  a 
house  of  dirt  and  darkness. 


THE   MISERIES   OF   LIFE. 

TTOW  few  men  in  the  world  are  prosperous  ! 
■*-■-  What  an  infinite  number  of  slaves  and 
beggars,  of  persecuted  and  oppressed  people, 
fill  all  comers  of  the  earth  with  groans,  and 
heaven  itself  with  weeping,  prayers,  and  sad 
remembrances  !  How  many  provinces  and  king- 


272  THE  MISERIES    OF  LIFE. 

doms  are  afflicted  by  a  violent  war,  or  made 
desolate  by  popular  diseases  !  Some  whole 
countries  are  remarked  with  fatal  evils,  or 
periodical  sicknesses.  Grand  Cairo  in  Egypt 
feels  the  plague  every  three  years  returning 
like  a  quartan  ague,  and  destroying  many  thou- 
sands of  persons.  All  tlie  inhabitants  of  Arabia 
the  Desert  are  in  continual  fear  of  being  buried 
in  huge  heaps  of  sand  ;  and  therefore  dwell  in 
tents  and  ambulatory  houses,  or  retire  to  un- 
fruitful mountains,  to  prolong  an  uneasy  and 
wilder  life.  And  all  the  countries  round  about 
the  Adriatic  Sea  feel  such  violent  convulsions 
by  tempests  and  intolerable  earthquakes,  that 
sometimes  whole  cities  find  a  tomb,  and  every 
man  sinks  with  his  own  house  made  ready  to 
become  his  monument,  and  his  bed  is  crushed 
into  the  disorders  of  a  grave. 

Or  if  you  please  in  charity  to  visit  an  hospi- 
tal, which  is  indeed  a  map  of  the  whole  world, 
there  you  shall  see  the  effects  of  Adam's  sin, 
and  the  imins  of  human  nature  ;  bodies  laid  up 
in  heaps,  like  the  bones  of  a  destroyed  town ; 
men  whose  souls  seem  to  be  borrowed,  and 
are  kept  there  by  art  and  the  force  of  medi- 
cine, whose  miseries  are  so  great  that  few 
people  have  charity  or  humanity  enough  to 
visit  them,  fewer  have  the  heart  to  dress  them ; 
and  we  pity  them  in  civility  or  with  a  transient 
prayer,  but  we  do  not  feel  their  sorrows  by  the 


THE  MISERIES   OF  LIFE.  273 

mercies  of  a  religious  pity ;  and  therefore,  as 
we  leave  their  sorrows  in  many  degrees  unre- 
lieved and  uneased,  so  we  contract,  by  our 
unmercifulness,  a  guilt  by  which  ourselves  be- 
come liable  to  the  same  calamities.  Those 
many  that  need  pity,  and  those  infinities  of 
people  that  refuse  to  pity,  are  miserable  upon  a 
several  charge,  but  yet  they  almost  make  up 
all  mankind. 

But  these  evils  are  notorious  and  confessed  ; 
even  they  also  whose  fehcity  men  stare  at  and 
admire,  besides  their  splendor  and  the  sharp- 
ness of  their  light,  will,  with  their  appendant 
sorrows,  wring  a  tear  from  the  most  resolved 
eye  :  for  not  only  the  winter  quarter  is  full  of 
storms  and  cold  and  darkness,  but  the  beaute- 
ous spring  hath  blasts  and  sharp  frosts;  the 
fruitful  teeming  summer  is  melted  with  heat, 
and  burnt  with  the  kisses  of  the  sun,  her  friend, 
and  choked  with  dust;  and  the  rich  autumn 
is  full  of  sickness  ;  and  we  are  wear}^  of  that 
which  we  enjoy,  because  sorrow  is  its  bigger 
portion.  For  look  upon  kings  and  conquerors. 
I  will  not  tell  that  many  of  them  fall  into  the 
condition  of  servants,  and  their  subjects  rule 
over  them,  and  stand  upon  the  ruins  of  their 
famihes,  and  that  to  such  persons  the  sorrow 
is  bigger  than  usually  happens  in  smaller  for- 
tunes. But  let  us  suppose  them  still  conquer- 
ors, and  see  what  a  goodly  purchase  they  get, 
18 


274  THE  MISERIES   OF  LIFE. 

by  all  their  pains,  and  amazing  fears,  and  con- 
timml  dangers.  They  carry  their  arms  beyond 
Ister,  and  pass  the  Euphrates,  and  bind  the 
Germans  with  the  bounds  of  the  river  Rhine  : 
I  speak  in  the  style  of  the  Roman  greatness  ; 
for  nowadays  the  biggest  fortune  swells  not 
beyond  the  limits  of  a  petty  provmce  or  two, 
and  a  hill  confines  the  progress  of  their  pros- 
perity, or  a  river  checks  it.  But  whatsoever 
tempts  the  pride  and  vanity  of  ambitious  per- 
sons, is  not  so  big  as  the  smallest  star  which 
we  see  scattered  in  disorder  and  unregarded 
upon  the  pavement  and  floor  of  heaven.  And 
if  we  would  suppose  the  pismires  had  but  our 
understanding,  they  also  would  have  the  meth- 
od of  a  man's  greatness,  and  divide  their  little 
molehills  into  provinces  and  exarchates  ;  and  if 
they  also  grew  as  vicious  and  as  miserable,  one 
of  their  princes  would  lead  an  army  out,  and 
kill  his  neighbor-ants,  that  he  might  reign  over 
the  next  handful  of  a  turf.  But  then  if  we 
consider  at  what  price  and  with  what  felicity  all 
this  is  purchased,  the  sting  of  the  painted  snake 
will  quickly  appear,  and  the  fairest  of  their 
fortunes  will  properly  enter  into  this  account 
of  human  infelicities. 

We  must  look  for  prosperity,  not  in  palaces 
or  courts  of  princes,  not  in  the  tents  of  con- 
querors, or  in  the  gayeties  of  fortunate  and 
prevailing   sinners ;   but   something   rather  in 


TEE  MISERIES   OF  LIFE.  275 

the  cottages  of  honest,  innocent,  and  contented 
persons,  whose  niind  is  no  bigger  than  their  for- 
tune, nor  their  virtue  less  than  their  security. 
As  for  others,  whose  fortune  looks  bigger,  and 
allures  fools  to  follow  it,  like  the  wandering 
fires  of  the  night,  till  they  run  into  rivers,  or 
are  broken  upon  rocks  with  staring  and  run- 
ning after  them,  they  are  all  in  the  condition  of 
Marius,  than  whose  condition  nothing  was  more 
constant,  and  nothing  more  mutable.  If  we 
reckon  them  amongst  the  happy,  they  are  the 
most  happy  men ;  if  we  reckon  them  amongst 
the  miserable,  they  are  the  most  miserable. 
For  just  as  is  a  man's  condition,  great  or  little, 
so  is  the  state  of  his  misery.  All  have  their 
share  ;  but  kings  and  princes,  great  generals 
and  consuls,  rich  men  and  mighty,  as  they 
have  the  biggest  business  and  the  biggest 
charge,  and  are  answerable  to  God  for  the 
greatest  accounts,  so  they  have  the  biggest 
trouble  ;  that  the  uneasiness  of  their  appen- 
dage may  divide  the  good  and  evil  of  the 
world,  making  the  poor  man's  fortune  as  eli- 
gible as  the  greatest;  and  also  restraining  the 
vanity  of  man's  spirit,  which  a  great  fortune  is 
apt  to  swell  from  a  vapor  to  a  bubble  :  but 
God  in  mercy  hath  mingled  wormwood  with 
their  wine,  and  so  restrained  the  drunkenness 
and  follies  of  prosperity. 

He  that  is  no  fool,  but  can  consider  wisely, 


276  THE  MISERIES    OF  LIFE. 

if  he  be  in  love  with  this  world,  we  need  not 
despair  but  that  a  witty  man  might  reconcile 
him  with  tortures,  and  make  him  think  chari- 
tably of  the  rack,  and  be  brought  to  dwell  with 
vipers  and  dragons,  and  entertain  his  guests 
with  the  shrieks  of  mandrakes,  cats,  and 
screech-owls,  with  the  fihng  of  iron,  and  the 
harshness  of  rending  silk,  or  to  admire  the 
harmony  that  is  made  by  a  herd  of  evening 
wolves,  when  they  miss  their  draught  of  blood 
in  their  midnight  revels.  The  groans  of  a  man 
in  a  fit  of  the  stone  are  worse  than  all  these  ; 
and  the  distractions  of  a  troubled  conscience 
are  worse  than  those  groans :  and  yet  a  care- 
less merry  sinner  is  worse  than  all  that. 

But  if  we  could  fi'om  one  of  the  battlements 
of  heaven  espy  how  many  men  and  women  at 
this  time  lie  fainting  and  dying  for  want  of 
bread,  how  many  young  men  are  hewn  down 
by  the  sword  of  war,  how  many  poor  orphans 
are  now  weeping  over  the  graves  of  their 
father,  by  whose  life  they  were  enabled  to 
eat ;  if  we  could  but  hear  how  many  mariners 
and  passengers  are  at  this  present  in  a  storm, 
and  shriek  out  because  their  keel  dashes  against 
a  rock  or  bulges  under  them,  how  many  peo- 
ple there  are  that  weep  with  want  and  are 
mad  with  oppression,  or  are  desperate  by  too 
quick  a  sense  of  a  constant  infelicity  ;  in  all 
reason  we  should  be  glad  to  be  out  of  the  noise 


REASON  AND  DISCRETION.  277 

and  participation  of  so  many  evils.  This  is  a 
place  of  sorrows  and  tears,  of  great  evils  and  a 
constant  calamity  :  let  us  remove  from  hence, 
at  least  in  affections  and  preparation  of  mind. 


REASON   AND   DISCRETION. 

TT/'E  must  not  think  that  the  life  of  a  man 
'  *  begins  when  he  can  feed  himself  or  walk 
alone,  when  he  can  fight  or  beget  his  like  ;  for 
so  he  is  contemporary  with  a  camel  or  a  cow  : 
but  he  is  first  a  man,  when  he  comes  to  a  cer- 
tain steady  use  of  reason,  according  to  his  pro- 
portion ;  and  when  that  is,  all  the  world  of  men 
cannot  tell  precisely.  Some  are  called  at  age  at 
fourteen,  some  at  one-and-twenty,  some  never ; 
but  all  men  late  enough,  for  the  life  of  a  man 
comes  upon  him  slowly  and  insensibly.  But  as 
when  the  sun  approaching  towards  the  gates 
of  the  morning,  he  first  opens  a  httle  eye  of 
heaven  and  sends  away  the  spirits  of  darkness, 
and  gives  light  to  a  cock,  and  calls  up  the  lark 
to  matins,  and  by  and  by  gilds  the  fringes  of  a 
cloud,  and  peeps  over  the  eastern  hills,  thrust- 
ing out  his  golden  horns,  like  those  which 
decked  the  brows  of  Moses  when  he  was  forced 
to  wear  a  veil,  because  himself  had  seen  the 
face  of  God ;   and  still  while  a  man  tells  the 


278  REASON  AND  DISCRETION. 

story,  the  sun  gets  up  higher,  till  he  shows  a 
fair  face  and  a  full  light,  and  then  he  shines 
one  whole  day,  under  a  cloud  often,  and  some- 
times weeping  great  and  little  showers,  and  sets 
quickly :  so  is  a  man's  reason  and  his  life.  He 
first  begins  to  perceive  himself  to  see  or  taste, 
making  little  reflections  upon  his  actions  of 
sense,  and  can  discourse  of  flies  and  dogs,  shells 
and  play,  horses  and  liberty  :  but  when  he  is 
strong  enough  to  enter  into  arts  and  little  insti- 
tutions, he  is  at  first  entertained  with  trifles 
and  impertinent  things,  not  because  he  needs 
them,  but  because  his  understanding  is  no  big- 
ger, and  little  images  of  things  are  laid  before 
him,  like  a  cockboat  to  a  whale,  only  to  play 
withal :  but  before  a  man  comes  to  be  wise,  he 
is  half  dead  with  gouts  and  consvimption,  with 
catarrhs  and  aches,  with  sore  eyes  and  a  worn- 
out  body.  So  that  if  we  must  not  reckon  the 
life  of  a  man  but  by  the  accounts  of  his  reason, 
he  is  long  before  his  soul  be  dressed ;  and  he  is 
not  to  be  called  a  man  without  a  wise  and  an 
adox'ned  soul,  a  soul  at  least  furnished  with 
what  is  necessary  towards  his  well-being.  But 
by  the  time  his  soul  is  thus  furnished,  his  body 
is  decayed ;  and  then  you  can  hardly  reckon 
him  to  be  aHve,  when  his  body  is  possessed  by 
so  many  degrees  of  death. 

But  there  is  yet  another  arrest.     At  first  he 
wants  strength  of  body,  and  then  he  wants  the 


REASON  AND  DISCRETION.  279 

use  of  reason ;  and  when  that  is  come,  it  is  ten 
to  one  but  he  stops  by  the  impediments  of  vice, 
and  wants  the  strength  of  the  spirit ;  and  we 
know  that  bodj  and  soul  and  spirit  are  the 
constituent  parts  of  every  Christian  man.  And 
now  let  us  consider  what  that  thmg;  is  which 
we  call  years  of  discretion.  The  youno-  man 
is  past  his  tutors,  and  arrived  at  the  bondage 
of  a  caitiff  spirit ;  he  is  run  from  discipline, 
and  is  let  loose  to  passion  ;  the  man  by  this 
time  hath  wit  enough  to  choose  his  vice,  to  act 
his  lust,  to  court  his  mistress,  to  talk  confi- 
dently and  ignorantly  and  perpetually,  to  de- 
spise his  betters,  to  deny  nothing  to  liis  appe- 
tite, to  do  things  that,  when  he  is  indeed  a 
man,  he  must  forever  be  ashamed  of.  For  this 
is  all  the  discretion  that  most  men  show  in  the 
first  stage  of  their  manhood  ;  they  can  discern 
good  from  evil ;  and  they  prove  their  skill  by 
leaving  all  that  is  good,  and  wallowing  in  the 
e\dls  of  folly  and  an  unbridled  appetite.  And 
by  this  time  the  young  man  hath  contracted 
vicious  habits,  and  is  a  beast  in  manners,  and 
therefore  it  will  not  be  fitting  to  reckon  the  be- 
ginning of  his  life  ;  he  is  a  fool  in  his  under- 
standing, and  that  is  a  sad  death  ;  and  he  is 
dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  and  that  is  a  sad- 
der :  so  that  he  hath  no  life  but  a  natural,  the 
hfe  of  a  beast  or  a  tree  ;  in  all  other  capacities 
he  is  dead ;  he  neither  hath  the  mtellectual  nor 


280  CHARITY. 

the  spiritual  life,  neither  the  life  of  a  man  nor 
of  a  Christian ;  and  this  sad  truth  lasts  too  long. 
For  old  age  seizes  upon  most  men  while  they 
still  retain  the  minds  of  boys  and  vicious  youth, 
doing  actions  from  principles  of  great  folly  and 
a  mightv  icrnorance,  admirino;  things  useless 
and  hurtful,  and  filling  up  all  the  dimensions 
of  their  abode  with  businesses  of  empty  affairs, 
being  at  leisure  to  attend  no  virtue.  They  can- 
not pray,  because  they  are  busy  and  because 
they  are  passionate  ;  they  cannot  communi- 
cate, because  they  have  quarrels  and  intrigues 
of  perplexed  causes,  complicated  hostilities,  and 
things  of  the  world  ;  and  therefore  they  can- 
not attend  to  the  things  of  God,  little  consider- 
ing that  they  must  find  a  time  to  die  in  ;  when 
death  comes,  they  must  be  at  leisure  for  that. 
Such  men  are  like  sailors  loosing  from  a  port, 
and  tost  immediately  with  a  perpetual  tempest 
lasting  till  their  cordage  crack,  and  either  they 
sink  or  return  back  again  to  the  same  place : 
they  did  not  make  a  voyage,  though  they  were 
long  at  sea. 


CHARITY. 


/CHARITY,    with   its   twin-daughters,    alms 
^  and  forgiveness,  is  especially  effectual  for 


CHARITY.  281 

the  procuring  God's  mercies  in  the  day  and 
the  manner  of  our  death.  Repentance  with- 
out ahns  is  dead  and  without  wings,  and  can 
never  soar  upwards  to  the  element  of  love. 
A  long  experience  hath  observed  God's  mer- 
cies to  descend  upon  charitable  people,  like 
the  dew  upon  Gideon's  fleece,  when  all  the 
world  was  dry.  When  faith  fails,  and  chas- 
tity is  useless,  and  temperance  shall  be  no 
more,  then  charity  shall  bear  you  upon  wings 
of  cherubim  to  the  eternal  mountain  of  the 
Lord. 

I  do  not  mean  this  should  only  be  a  death- 
bed charity,  any  more  than  a  death-bed  repent- 
ance ;  but  it  ought  to  be  the  charity  of  our 
hfe  and  healthful  years,  a  parting  with  portions 
of  our  goods  then  when  we  can  keep  them. 
We  must  not  first  kindle  our  licrhts  when  we 
are  to  descend  into  our  houses  of  darkness,  or 
bring  a  glaring  torch  suddenly  to  a  dark  room 
that  will  amaze  the  eye  and  not  delight  it,  or 
instruct  the  body;  but  if  our  tapers  have,  m 
their  constant  course,  descended  into  theh 
grave,  crowned  all  the  way  with  light,  then 
let  the  death-bed  charity  be  doubled,  and  the 
light  burn  brightest  when  it  is  to  deck  our 
hearse. 


282  IMMODERATE   GRIEF. 


TIME. 

TT  is  very  remarkable  that  God  who  giveth 
^  plenteovTsly  to  all  creatures,  —  he  hath  scat- 
tered the  firmament  with  stars,  as  a  man  sows 
corn  in  his  fields,  in  a  multitude  bigger  than 
the  capacities  of  human  order ;  he  hath  made  so 
much  variety  of  creatures,  and  gives  us  great 
choice  of  meats  and  drinks,  although  any  one 
of  both  Idnds  would  have  served  our  needs  ; 
and  so  in  all  instances  of  nature,  —  yet  in  the 
distribution  of  our  time,  God  seems  to  be 
straight-handed ;  and  gives  it  to  us,  not  as 
nature  gives  us  rivers,  enough  to  drown  us, 
but  drop  by  drop,  minute  after  minute ;  so  that 
we  never  can  have  two  minutes  together,  but 
he  takes  away  one  when  he  gives  us  another. 
This  should  teach  us  to  value  our  time  since 
God  so  values  it,  and  by  his  so  small  distribu- 
tion of  it  tells  us  it  is  the  most  precious  thing 
we  have. 


IMMODERATE    GRIEF. 

O  OLEMN  and  appointed  mournings  are  good 
^  expressions  of  our  dearness  to  the  departed 
soul,  and  of  his  worth  and  our  value  of  him ; 
and  it  hath  its  praise  in  nature  and  in  man- 


IMMODERATE   GRIEF.  283 

ners  and  public  customs.  Something  is  to  be 
given  to  custom,  something  to  fame,  to  nature, 
and  to  civihties,  and  to  the  honor  of  the  de- 
ceased fi-iends  ;  for  that  man  is  esteemed  to  die 
miserable  for  whom  no  friend  or  relative  sheds 
a  tear  or  pays  a  solemn  sigh.  I  desire  to  die 
a  drv  death,  but  am  not  very  desirous  to  have 
a  dry  funeral.  Some  shoM^ers  sprinkled  upon 
my  grave  would  do  well  and  comely;  and  a 
soft  shower  to  tm-n  those  flowers  into  a  sprmg- 
ing  memory  or  a  fair  rehearsal,  that  I  may  not 
go  forth  of  my  doors  as  my  servants  carry  the 
entrails  of  beasts. 

But  that  which  is  to  be  faulted  in  this  partic- 
ular is  when  the  grief  is  immodei'ate  and  un- 
reasonable ;  and  Paula  Romana  deserved  to 
have  felt  the  weight  of  St.  Hierom's  severe 
reproof,  when  at  the  death  of  every  of  her 
children  she  almost  wept  herself  into  her 
grave.  But  it  is  worse  yet  when  people,  by 
an  ambitious  and  a  pompous  sorrow,  and  by 
ceremonies  invented  for  the  ostentation  of  their 
grief,  fill  heaven  and  earth  with  exclamations, 
and  grow  troublesome  because  their  friend  is 
happy  or  themselves  want  his  company.  It  is 
certainly  a  sad  thing  in  nature  to  see  a  friend 
trembling  with  a  palsy,  or  scorched  with  fevers, 
or  dried  up  like  a  potsherd  with  immoderate 
heats,  and  rolling  upon  his  uneasy  bed  without 
sleep,  which  cannot  be  invited  with  music,  or 


284  THE  EPHESIAN  MATRON. 

pleasant  murmiu^s,  or  a  decent  stillness  :  noth- 
ing but  the  servants  of  cold  death,  poppy  and 
weariness,  can  tempt  the  eyes  to  let  their  cur- 
tains down,  and  then  they  sleep  only  to  taste 
of  death,  and  make  an  essay  of  the  shades  be- 
low :  and  yet  we  weep  not  here.  The  period 
and  opportunity  for  tears  we  choose  when  our 
friend  is  fallen  asleep,  when  he  hath  laid  his 
neck  upon  the  lap  of  his  mother,  and  let  his 
head  down  to  be  raised  up  to  heaven.  This 
grief  is  ill-placed  and  indecent.  But  many 
times  it  is  worse  ;  and  it  hath  been  observed 
that  those  greater  and  stormy  passions  do  so 
spend  the  whole  stock  of  grief  that  they  pres- 
ently admit  a  comfort  and  contraiy  affection ; 
while  a  sorrow  that  is  even  and  temperate  goes 
on  to  its  period  with  expectation  and  the  dis- 
tances of  a  just  time. 


THE   EPHESIAN  MATEON. 

npHE  Ephesian  woman,  that  the  soldier  told 
-*-  of  in  Petronius,  was  the  talk  of  all  the  town, 
and  the  rarest  example  of  a  dear  affection  to 
her  husband.  She  descended  with  the  corpse 
into  the  vault,  and  there  being  attended  with 
her  maiden,  resolved  to  weep  to  death,  or  die 
with  famine   or  a  distempered  sorrow  ;    from 


THE  EPHESIAN  MATRON.  285 

which  resolution  nor  liis  nor  her  friends,  nor 
the  reverence  of  the  principal  citizens,  who 
used  the  entreaties  of  then-  charity  and  their 
power,  could  persuade  her.  But  a  soldier  that 
watched  seven  dead  bodies  hanging  upon  trees 
just  over  against  this  monument,  crept  in,  and 
awhile  stared  upon  the  silent  and  comely  dis- 
orders of  the  sorrow  ;  and  having  let  the  won- 
der awhile  breathe  out  at  each  other's  eyes,  at 
last  he  fetched  his  supper  and  a  bottle  of  wine, 
with  purpose  to  eat  and  drink,  and  still  to  feed 
himself  with  that  sad  prettmess.  His  pity  and 
first  draught  of  wine  made  him  bold  and  curi- 
ous to  try  if  the  maid  would  drink  ;  who,  hav- 
ing many  hours  since  felt  her  resolution  faint 
as  her  wearied  body,  took  his  kindness ;  and 
the  light  returned  into  her  eyes,  and  danced 
like  boys  in  a  festival ;  and  fearing  lest  the  per- 
tinaciousness  of  her  mistress's  sorrows  should 
cause  her  evil  to  revert,  or  her  shame  to  ap- 
proach, assayed  whether  she  would  endure  to 
hear  an  argument  to  persuade  her  to  drink  and 
live.  The  violent  passion  had  laid  all  her 
spirits  in  wildness  and  dissolution,  and  the  maid 
found  them  willing  to  be  gathered  into  order  at 
the  arrest  of  any  new  object,  being  weary 
of  the  first,  of  which,  like  leeches,  they  had 
sucked  their  fill,  till  they  fell  down  and  burst. 
The  weeping  woman  took  her  cordial,  and  was 
not  angry  with  her  maid,  and  heard  the  soldier 


286  THE  EPEESIAN  MATRON. 

talk.  And  he  was  so  pleased  with  the  change, 
that  he,  who  first  loved  the  silence  of  the  sor- 
row, was  more  in  love  with  the  music  of  her 
returning  voice,  especially  which  himself  had 
strung  and  put  in  tune  ;  and  the  man  began 
to  talk  amorously,  and  the  woman's  weak  head 
and  heart  were  soon  possessed  with  a  little 
wine,  and  grew  gay,  and  talked,  and  fell  in 
love  ;  and  that  verv  night,  in  the  morning;  of 
her  passion,  in  the  grave  of  her  husband,  in 
the  pomps  of  mourning,  and  in  her  funeral 
garments,  married  her  new  and  stranger  guest. 
For  so  the  wild  foragers  of  Lybia  being 
spent  with  heat,  and  dissolved  by  the  too  fond 
kisses  of  the  sun,  do  melt  with  their  common 
fires,  and  die  with  faintness,  and  descend  with 
motions  slow  and  unable  to  the  little  brooks 
that  descend  from  heaven  in  the  wilderness  ; 
and  when  they  drink,  they  return  into  the 
vigor  of  a  new  life,  and  contract  strange  mar- 
riages ;  and  the  lioness  is  courted  by  a  panther, 
and  she  listens  to  his  love,  and  conceives  a 
monster  that  all  men  call  unnatural,  and  the 
daughter  of  an  equivocal  passion  and  of  a  sud- 
den refreshment.  And  so  also  was  it  in  the 
cave  at  Ephesus  ;  for  by  this  time  the  soldier 
began  to  think  it  was  fit  he  should  return  to 
his  watch,  and  observe  the  dead  bodies  he  had 
in  charge  ;  but  Avhen  he  ascended  from  his 
mourning  bridal  chamber,  he  found  that  one  of 


TEE  EPHESIAN  MATRON.  287 

the  bodies  was  stolen  by  the  fi-iends  of  the 
dead,  and  that  he  was  fallen  into  an  evil  con- 
dition, because  by  the  laws  of  Ephesus  his 
body  was  to  be  fixed  in  the  place  of  it.  The 
poor  man  returns  to  his  woman,  cries  out  bit- 
terly, and  in  her  presence  resolves  to  die  to 
prevent  his  death,  and  in  secret  to  prevent  his 
shame.  But  now  the  woman's  love  was  rao-ino- 
like  her  former  sadness,  and  grew  witty,  and 
she  comforted  her  sokher,  and  persuaded  him 
to  Hve,  lest  by  losing  him,  who  had  brought 
her  fi-om  death  and  a  more  grievous  sorrow, 
she  should  return  to  her  old  solemnities  of  dy- 
ing, and  lose  her  honor  for  a  dream,  or  the 
reputation  of  her  constancy  without  the  change 
and  satisfaction  of  an  enjoyed  love.  The  man 
would  fain  have  lived,  if  it  had  been  possible  ; 
and  she  found  out  this  way  for  him  :  that  he 
should  take  the  body  of  her  first  husband, 
whose  funeral  she  had  so  strangely  mom-ned, 
and  put  it  upon  the  gallows  in  the  place  of  the 
stolen  thief.  He  did  so,  and  escaped  the  pres- 
ent danger,  to  possess  a  love  Avhich  might 
change  as  violently  as  her  grief  had  done. 

But  so  have  I  seen  a  crowd  of  disordered 
people  rush  violently  and  in  heaps  till  their 
utmost  border  was  restrained  by  a  wall,  or  had 
spent  the  fury  of  their  first  fluctuation  and  wa- 
tery progress,  and  by  and  by  it  returned  to  the 
contrary  with  the  same  earnestness,  only  be- 


288  EDUCATION. 

cause  it  was  violent  and  ungoverned.  A  rag- 
ing passion  is  this  crowd,  which,  when  it  is  not 
under  disciphne  and  the  conduct  of  reason,  and 
the  proportions  of  temperate  humanity,  runs 
passionately  the  way  it  happens,  and  by  and 
by  as  greedily  to  another  side,  being  swayed 
by  its  own  weight,  and  driven  anywhither  by 
chance,  in  all  its  pursuits  having  no  rule  but 
to  do  all  it  can,  and  spend  itself  in  haste,  and 
expire  with  some  shame  and  much  indecency. 


EDUCATION. 

/OTHERWISE  do  fathers,  and  otherwise  do 
^-^  mothers  handle  their  children.  These 
soften  them  with  kisses  and  imperfect  noises, 
with  the  pap  and  breast-milk  of  soft  endear- 
ments ;  they  rescue  them  from  tutors,  and  snatch 
them  from  discipline ;  they  desire  to  keep  them 
fat  and  warm,  and  their  feet  dry,  and  their 
bellies  full ;  and  then  the  children  govern  and 
cry,  and  prove  fools  and  troublesome,  so  long 
as  the  feminine  republic  does  endure.  But 
fathers,  because  they  design  to  have  their  chil- 
dren wise  and  valiant,  apt  for  counsel  or  for 
arms,  send  them  to  severe  governments,  and 
tie  them  to  study,  to  hard  labor,  and  afflictive 
contingencies.      They  rejoice   when   the  bold 


EDUCATION.  289 

boy  strikes  a  lion  with  his  hunting-spear,  and 
shrinks  not  when  the  beast  comes  to  affright 
his  early  courage.  Softness  is  for  slaves  and 
beasts,  for  minstrels  and  useless  persons,  for 
such  who  cannot  ascend  higher  than  the  state 
of  a  fair  ox,  or  a  servant  entertained  for  vainer 
offices ;  but  the  man  that  designs  his  son  for 
nobler  emplojanents,  to  honors  and  to  triumphs, 
to  consular  dignities  and  presidencies  of  coun- 
cils, loves  to  see  him  pale  with  study,  or  pant- 
ing with  labor,  hardened  with  sufferance,  or 
eminent  by  dangers. 

And  so  God  dresses  us  for  heaven.  He 
loves  to  see  us  struggling  with  a  disease,  and 
resisting  the  devil,  and  contesting  against  the 
weaknesses  of  nature,  and  against  hope  to  be- 
lieve in  hope,  resigning  ourselves  to  God's  will, 
praying  him  to  choose  for  us,  and  dying  in  all 
things  but  faith  and  its  blessed  consequents  ; 
and  the  danger  and  the  resistance  shall  endear 
the  office.  For  so  have  I  known  the  boisterous 
northwind  pass  through  the  yielding  air,  which 
opened  its  bosom,  and  appeased  its  violence  by 
entertaining  it  with  easy  compliance  in  all  the 
regions  of  its  reception ;  but  when  the  same 
breath  of  heaven  hath  been  checked  with  the 
stiffiiess  of  a  tower,  or  the  united  strength  of  a 
wood,  it  grew  mighty  and  dwelt  there,  and 
made  the  highest  branches  stoop  and  make  a 

smooth  path  for  it  on  the  top  of  all  its  glories. 
19 


290  ADVANTAGES   OF  SICKNESS. 


ADVANTAGES   OF    SICKNESS. 

I  CONSIDER  one  of  the  great  felicities  of 
heaven   consists  in  an  immunity  from  sin. 
Then  we  shall  love  God  without  mixtures  of 
malice  ;    then  we   shall  enjoy  without  envy  ; 
then  we  shall  see  fuller  vessels  running  over 
with  glory,  and  crowned  with  bigger  circles  ; 
and  this  we  shall  beliold  without  spilling  from 
our  eyes  (those  vessels  of  joy  and  grief)  any 
sign  of  anger,  trouble,  or  any  repining  spirit. 
Our  passions  shall  be  pure,  our  charity  without 
fear,  our  desire  without  lust,  our  possessions  all 
our  own  ;  and  all  in  the  inheritance  of  Jesus, 
in  the  richest  soil  of  God's  eternal  kingdom. 
Now  half  of  this  reason  which  makes  heaven 
so  happy  by  being  innocent,  is  also  in  the  state 
of  sickness,   making   the    sorrows  of  old   age 
smooth,  and  the  groans  of  a  sick  heart  apt  to 
be  joined  to  the  music  of  angels ;  and  though 
they  sound  harsh  to  our  untuned  ears  and  dis- 
composed organs,  yet  those  accents  must  needs 
be  in  themselves  excellent  which  God  loves  to 
hear,  and  esteems  them  as  prayers  and  argu- 
ments of  pity,  instruments  of  mercy  and  grace, 
and  preparatives  to  glory. 

In  sickness  the  soul  begins  to  dress  herself 
for  immortality.  At  first,  she  unties  the  strings 
of  vanity  that  made  her  upper  garment  cleave 


ADVANTAGES   OF  SICKNESS.  291 

to  the  world  and  sit  uneasy.  First,  she  puts 
off  the  hght  and  fantastic  summer  robe  of  lust 
and  wanton  appetite. 

Next  to  this,  the  soul  by  the  help  of  sick- 
ness knocks  off  the  fetters  of  pride  and  vainer 
complacencies.  Then  she  draws  the  curtains 
and  stops  the  light  from  coming  in,  and  takes 
the  pictures  down,  —  those  fantastic  images  of 
self-love,  and  gay  remembrances  of  vain  opin- 
ion and  popular  noises.  Then  the  spirit  stoops 
into  the  sobrieties  of  humble  thoughts,  and 
feels  corruption  chiding  the  forwardness  of 
fancy,  and  allaying  the  vapors  of  conceit  and 
factious  opinions.  For  humility  is  the  soul's 
grave,  into  which  she  enters,  not  to  die,  but  to 
mechtate  and  inter  some  of  its  troublesome  ap- 
pendages. There  she  sees  the  dust,  and  feels 
the  dishonor  of  the  body,  and  reads  the  register 
of  all  its  sad  adherences  ;  and  then  she  lays  by 
all  her  vain  reflections,  beating  upon  her  crys- 
tal and  pure  mirror  from  the  fancies  of  strength 
and  beauty,  and  Kttle  decayed  prettinesses  of 
the  body. 

Next  to  these,  as  the  soul  is  still  undressing, 
she  takes  off"  the  roughness  of  her  great  and 
little  angers  and  animosities,  and  receives  the 
oil  of  mercies  and  smooth  forgiveness,  fair  in- 
terpretations and  gentle  answers,  designs  of 
reconcilement  and  Christian  atonement,  in  their 
places.     The  temptations  of  this  state,  such  I 


292  ADVANTAGES    OF  SICKNESS. 

mean  which  are  proper  to  it,  are  little  and 
inconsiderable  ;  the  man  is  apt  to  chide  a  ser- 
vant too  bitterly,  and  to  be  discontented  with 
his  nurse  or  not  satisfied  with  his  physician, 
and  he  rests  uneasily,  and  (poor  man  !)  nothing 
can  please  him;  and  indeed  these  Uttle  inde- 
cencies must  be  cured  and  stopped  lest  they 
run  into  an  inconvenience.  But  sickness  is  in 
this  particular  a  little  image  of  the  state  of 
blessed  souls,  or  of  Adam's  early  morning  in 
paradise,  free  from  the  troubles  of  last  and 
violences  of  anger,  and  the  intricacies  of  ambi- 
tion or  the  restlessness  of  covetousness.  For 
though  a  man  may  carry  all  these  along  with 
him  into  his  sickness,  yet  there  he  will  not  find 
them  ;  and  in  despite  of  all  his  own  malice,  his 
soul  shall  find  some  rest  from  laboring  in  the 
galleys  and  baser  captivity  of  sin. 

At  the  first  address  and  presence  of  sickness, 
stand  still  and  arrest  thy  spirit  that  it  may, 
without  amazement  or  affright,  consider  that 
this  was' that  thou  lookedst  for  and  wert  always 
certain  should  happen,  and  that  now  thou  art 
to  enter  into  the  actions  of  a  new  religion,  the 
agony  of  a  strange  constitution ;  but  at  no 
hand  suffer  thy  spirits  to  be  dispersed  with  fear 
or  wildness  of  thought,  but  stay  their  looseness 
and  dispersion  by  a  serious  consideration  of  the 
present  and  future  employment.  For  so  doth 
the  Lybian  hon,  spying  the  fierce  huntsman; 


DAILY  PRATER.  293 

he  first  beats  himself  with  the  strokes  of  his 
tail  and  cvirls  up  his  spirits,  making  them  strong 
with  union  and  recollection,  till,  being  struck 
with  a  Mauritanian  spear,  he  rushes  forth  into 
his  defence  and  noblest  contention  ;  and  either 
escapes  into  the  secrets  of  his  own  dwelling,  or 
else  dies  the  bravest  of  the  forest.  Every 
man,  when  shot  with  an  arrow  from  God's 
quiA^er,  must  then  draw  in  all  the  auxiliaries 
of  reason,  and  know  that  then  is  the  time  to 
try  his  strength  and  to  reduce  the  words  of  his 
religion  into  action,  and  consider  that,  if  he 
behaves  himself  weakly  and  timorously,  he  suf- 
fers never  the  less  of  sickness ;  but  if  he  re- 
turns to  health,  he  carries  along  with  him  the 
mark  of  a  coward  and  a  fool ;  and  if  he  de- 
scends into  his  grave,  he  enters  into  the  state 
of  the  faithless  and  unbehevers.  Let  him  set 
his  heart  firm  upon  this  resolution :  "  I  must 
bear  it  inevitably,  and  I  will,  by  God's  grace, 
do  it  nobly." 


DAILY   PRAYER. 


CHORT  passes,  quick  ejections,  concise  forms 
^  and  remembrances,  holy  breathings,  prayers 
like  little  posies,  may  be  sent  forth  without 
number  on  every  occasion,  and  God  will  note 


294  TOLERATION. 

them  in  his  book.  But  all  that  have  a  care  to 
walk  with  God  fill  their  vessels  more  largely 
as  soon  as  they  rise,  before  they  begin  the 
work  of  the  day,  and  before  they  lie  down 
again  at  night ;  which  is  to  observe  what  the 
Lord  appointed  in  the  Levitical  ministry,  a 
morning  and  an  evening  lamb  to  be  laid  upon 
the  altar.  So  with  them  that  are  not  stark 
irreligious,  prayer  is  the  key  to  open  the  day 
and  the  bolt  to  shut  in  the  night.  But  as  the 
skies  drop  the  early  dew  and  the  evening  dew 
upon  the  grass,  yet  it  would  not  spring  and 
grow  green  by  that  constant  and  double  fall- 
ing of  the  dew,  unless  some  great  showers  at 
certain  seasons  did  supply  the  rest ;  so  the 
customary  devotion  of  prayer  twice  a  day  is 
the  falling  of  the  early  and  the  latter  dew  ;  but 
if  you  will  increase  and  flourish  in  the  works 
of  grace,  empty  the  great  clouds  sometimes 
and  let  them  fall  into  a  full  shower  of  prayer  ; 
choose  out  the  seasons  in  your  own  discretion 
when  prayer  shall  overflow  like  Jordan  in  the 
time  of  harvest. 


A 


TOLERATION. 

NY  zeal  is  proper  for  religion   but  the  zeal 
of  the  sword  and  the  zeal  of  anger ;  this 


TOLERATION.  295 

is  the  bitterness  of  zeal,  and  it  is  a  certain  temp- 
tation to  every  man  against  his  duty  ;  for  if  the 
sword  turns  preacher  and  dictates  propositions 
by  empire  instead  of  arguments,  and  engraves 
them  in  men's  hearts  with  a  poignard,  that  it 
shall  be  death  to  believe  what  I  innocently  and 
ignorantly  am  persuaded  of,  it  must  needs  be 
unsafe  to  "  try  the  spirits,"  to  "  try  all  things," 
to  make  an  inquiry ;  and  yet  without  this  lib- 
erty no  man  can  justify  himself  before  God  or 
man,  nor  confidently  say  that  his  religion  is 
best.  This  is  inorchnation  of  zeal ;  for  Christ, 
by  reproving  St.  Peter  drawing  his  sword  even 
in  the  cause  of  Christ  for  his  sacred  and  yet 
injured  person,  teaches  us  not  to  use  the  sword, 
though  in  the  cause  of  God  or  for  God  himself. 
I  end  with  a  stoiy  which  I  find  in  the  Jews' 
books. 

When  Abraham  sat  at  his  tent-door,  accord- 
ing to  his  custom,  waiting  to  entertain  stran- 
gers, he  espied  an  old  man  stooping  and  leaning 
on  his  staff,  weary  with  age  and  travel,  coming 
towards  him,  who  was  an  hundred  years  of  age. 
He  received  him  kindly,  washed  Lis  feet,  pro- 
vided supper,  cavised  him  to  sit  down  ;  but  ob- 
serving that  the  old  man  ate,  and  prayed  not, 
nor  begged  for  a  blessing  on  his  meat,  he  asked 
him  why  he  did  not  worship  the  God  of  heaven. 
The  old  man  told  him  that  he  worshipped  the 
fire  only,  and  acknowledged  no  other  God.    At 


296  THE  PRESENCE   OF   GOD. 

which  answer  Abraham  grew  so  zealously 
angry  that  he  thrust  the  old  man  out  of  his 
tent  and  exposed  him  to  all  the  evils  of  the 
night  and  an  unguarded  condition.  When  the 
old  man  was  gone,  God  called  to  Abraham 
and  asked  him  where  the  stranger  was.  He 
replied,  I  thrust  him  away  because  he  did  not 
worship  thee.  God  answered  him,  I  have 
suffered  him  these  hundred  years,  although  he 
dishonored  me  ;  and  couldst  thou  not  endure 
him  one  night  when  he  gave  thee  no  trouble  ? 
Upon  this,  saith  the  story,  Abraham  fetched 
him  back  again,  and  gave  him  hospitable  enter- 
tainment and  wise  instruction.  Go  thou  and 
do  likewise,  and  thy  charity  will  be  rewarded 
by  the  God  of  Abraham. 


THE   PEESENCE   OF    GOD. 

^HAT  God  is  present  in  all  places,  that  he 
-*-  sees  every  action,  hears  all  discourses,  and 
understands  every  thought,  is  no  strange  thing 
to  a  Christian  ear  who  hath  been  taught  this 
doctrine,  not  only  by  right  reason  and  the  con- 
sent of  all  the  wise  men  in  the  world,  but  also 
by  God  himself  in  holy  Scripture.  God  is 
wholly  in  every  place,  included  in  no  place,  not 
bound  with  cords,  (except  those  of  love,)  not 


THE  PRESENCE   OF   GOD.  297 

divided  into  parts  nor  changeable  into  several 
shapes,  filling  heaven  and  earth  with  his  pres- 
ent power  and  with  his  never  absent  nature. 
So  that  we  may  imagine  God  to  be  as  the  air 
and  the  sea,  and  we  all  enclosed  in  his  circle, 
wrapt  up  in  the  lap  of  his  infinite  nature  ;  and 
we  can  no  more  be  removed  from  the  presence 
of  God  than  from  our  own  being. 

God  is  present  by  his  essence,  which  because 
it  is  infinite  cannot  be  contained  within  the 
limits  of  any  place  ;  and  because  he  is  of  an 
essential  purity  and  spiritual  nature,  he  cannot 
be  undervalued  by  being  supposed  present  in 
the  places  of  unnatural  uncleanness  ;  because 
as  the  sun,  reflecting  upon  the  mud  of  strands 
and  shores,  is  unpolluted  in  its  beams,  so  is  God 
not  dishonored  when  we  suppose  him  in  every 
of  his  creatures,  and  in  every  part  of  every 
one  of  them,  and  is  still  as  unmixed  with  any 
unhandsome  adherence  as  is  the  soul  in  the 
bowels  of  the  body. 

God  is  everywhere  present  by  his  power. 
He  rolls  the  orbs  of  heaven  with  his  hand,  he 
fixes  the  earth  with  his  foot,  he  guides  all  the 
creatures  with  his  eye,  and  refreshes  them  with 
his  influence  ;  he  makes  the  powers  of  hell  to 
shake  with  his  terrors,  and  binds  the  devils  with 
his  word,  and  throws  them  out  with  his  com- 
mand, and  sends  the  angels  on  embassies  with 
his  decrees  ;  he  hardens  the  joints  of  infants, 


298  THE  PRESENCE   OF  GOD. 

and  confirms  the  bones  when  thej  are  fashioned 
beneath  secretly  in  tlie  heart.  He  it  is  that 
assists  at  the  numerous  productions  of  fishes ; 
and  there  is  not  one  hollowness  in  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  but  he  shows  himself  to  be  Lord  of 
it,  by  sustaining  there  the  creatures  that  come 
to  dwell  in  it ;  and  in  the  wilderness,  the  bit- 
tern and  the  stork,  the  dragon  and  the  satyr, 
the  unicorn  and  the  elk,  live  upon  his  provisions 
and  revere  his  power  and  feel  the  force  of  his 
almightiness. 

God  is,  by  grace  and  benediction,  specially 
present  in  holy  places,  and  in  the  solemn  as- 
semblies of  his  servants.  If  holy  people  meet 
in  grots  and  dens  of  the  earth  when  persecu- 
tion or  a  public  necessity  disturbs  the  public 
order,  circumstance,  and  convenience,  God  fails 
not  to  come  thither  to  them  ;  but  God  is  also 
by  the  same  or  greater  reason  present  there 
where  they  meet  ordinarily. 

God  is  especially  present  in  the  hearts  of 
his  people  by  his  Holy  Spirit ;  and  indeed  the 
hearts  of  holy  men  are  temples  in  the  truth  of 
things,  and  in  type  and  shadow  they  are  heaven 
itself;  for  God  reigns  in  the  hearts  of  his 
servants  ;  there  is  his  kingdom.  The  power 
of  grace  hath  subdued  all  his  enemies ;  there 
is  his  power.  They  serve  him  night  and  day, 
and  give  him  thanks  and  praise  ;  that  is  his 
glory.     This    is    the    religion    and  worship   of 


THE  PRESENCE   OF  GOD.  299 

God  in  the  temple.     The  temple  itself  is  the 
heart  of  man. 

God  is  especially  present  in  the  consciences 
of  all  persons,  good  and  bad,  by  way  of  testi- 
mony and  judgment;  that  is,  he  is  there  a 
remembrancer  to  call  our  actions  to  mind,  a 
witness  to  bring  them  to  judgment,  and  a  judge 
to  acquit  or  condemn.  And  although  this 
manner  of  presence  is  in  this  life  after  the 
manner  of  this  life,  that  is,  impei^fect,  and  we 
forget  many  actions  of  om-  lives,  yet  the  great- 
est changes  of  our  state  of  grace  or  sin,  our 
most  considerable  actions,  are  always  present, 
like  capital  letters  to  an  aged  and  dim  eye  ; 
and  at  the  day  of  judgment,  God  shall  draw 
aside  the  cloud  and  manifest  this  manner  of  his 
presence  more  notoriously,  and  make  it  appear 
that  he  was  an  observer  of  our  very  thoughts  ; 
and  that  he  only  laid  those  things  by  which, 
because  we  covered  with  dust  and  negligence, 
were  not  then  discerned.  But  when  we  are 
risen  from  our  dust  and  imperfections,  they  all 
appear  plain  and  legible. 

Now  the  consideration  of  this  great  truth  is 
of  a  very  universal  use  in  the  Avhole  course  of 
the  life  of  a  Christian.  All  the  consequents 
and  effects  of  it  are  miiversal.  He  that  re- 
members that  God  stands  a  witness  and  a 
judge,  beholding  every  secrecy,  besides  his 
impiety,  must  have  put  on  impudence  if  he  be 


300  THE  PRESENCE  OF' GOD. 

not  mucli  restrained  in  his  temptation  to  sin. 
He  is  to  be  feared  in  public,  he  is  to  be  feared 
in  private  :  if  you  go  forth,  he  spies  you  ;  if 
you  go  in,  he  sees  you ;  when  you  hght  the 
candle,  he  observes  you  ;  when  you  put  it  out, 
then  also  God  marks  you.  Be  sure  that  while 
you  are  in  his  sight,  you  behave  yourself  as 
becomes  so  holy  a  presence.  But  if  you^  will 
sin,  retire  yourself  wisely,  and  go  where  God 
cannot  see ;  for  nowhere  else  can  you  be  safe. 
And  certainly,  if  men  would  always  actually 
consider  and  really  esteem  this  truth,  that  God 
is  the  great  eye  of  the  world,  always  watching 
over  our  actions,  and  an  ever-open  ear  to  hear 
all  our  words,  and  an  unwearied  arm  ever  lifted 
up  to  crush  a  sinner  into  ruin,  it  wou.ld  be  the 
readiest  way  in  the  world  to  make  sin  to  cease 
from  among;  the  children  of  men,  and  for  men 
to  approach  to  the  blessed  state  of  the  saints 
in  heaven,  who  cannot  sin,  for  they  always  walk 
in  the  presence  and  behold  the  face  of  God. 

Let  everything  you  see  represent  to  your 
spirit  the  presence,  the  excellency,  and  the 
power  of  God,  and  let  your  conversation  with 
the  creatures  lead  you  unto  the  Creator  ;  for 
so  shall  your  actions  be  done  more  frequently 
with  an  actual  eye  to  God's  presence  by  your 
often  seeino;  him  in  the  glass  of  the  creation. 
In  the  face  of  the  sun  you  may  see  God's 
beauty ;    in   the   fire    you   may   feel   his   heat 


TEE  PRESENCE  OF  GOD.  301 

warming ;  in  the  water  his  gentleness  to  re- 
fresh you  :  he  it  is  that  comforts  your  spirits 
when  you  have  taken  cordials ;  it  is  the  dew  of 
heaven  that  makes  your  field  give  you  bread ; 
and  the  breasts  of  God  are  the  bottles  that 
minister  drink  to  your  necessities. 

In  your  retirement  make  frequent  colloquies 
or  short  discoursmgs  between  God  and  thy 
own  soul.  "  Seven  times  a  day  do  I  praise 
thee,  and  in  the  night  season  also  I  thought 
upon  thee  while  I  was  waking."  So  did  David; 
and  every  act  of  complaint  or  thanksgiving, 
every  act  of  rejoicing  or  of  mourning,  every 
petition  and  every  return  of  the  heart  in  these 
intercourses,  is  a  going  to  God,  an  appearing  in 
his  presence,  and  a  representing  him  present 
to  thy  spfrit  and  to  thy  necessity.  And  this 
was  long  since  by  a  spiritual  person  called 
"  a  building  to  God  a  chapel  in  our  heart." 
It  reconciles  Martha's  employment  with  Mary's 
devotion,  charity  and  religion,  the  necessities 
of  our  calling  and  the  employments  of  devo- 
tion. For  thus,  in  the  midst  of  the  works  of 
yoiu'  trade,  you  may  retire  into  your  chapel 
(your  heart),  and  converse  with  God  by  fre- 
quent addresses  and  returns. 

Let  us  remember  that  God  is  in  us,  and  that 
we  are  in  him.  We  are  his  workmanship,  let 
us  not  deface  it ;  we  are  in  his  presence,  let  us 
not  pollute  it  by  unholy  and  impure  actions. 


302  QUIET  RELIGION. 

God  is  in  eveiy  creature ;  be  cruel  towards 
none,  neither  abuse  any  by  intemperance.  Re- 
member that  the  creatures,  and  every  member 
of  thy  own  body,  is  one  of  the  lesser  cabinets 
and  receptacles  of  God.  They  are  such  which 
God  hath  blessed  with  his  presence,  hallowed 
by  his  touch,  and  separated  from  unholy  use  by 
makino;  them  belono-  to  his  dwelling;. 

He  walks  as  in  the  presence  of  God  that 
converses  with  him  in  frequent  prayer  and 
frequent  communion,  that  runs  to  him  in  all 
his  necessities,  that  asks  counsel  of  him  in  all 
his  doubtings,  that  opens  all  his  wants  to  him, 
that  weeps  before  him  for  his  sins,  that  asks 
remedy  and  support  for  his  weakness,  that  fears 
him  as  a  Judge,  reverences  him  as  a  Lord, 
obeys  him  as  a  Father,  and  loves  him  as  a 
Patron. 


QUIET   RELIGION. 

TT  is  not  altogether  inconsiderable  to  observe 
-*-  that  the  holy  Virgin  came  to  a  great  perfec- 
tion and  state  of  piety  by  a  few,  and  those 
modest  and  even,  exercises  and  external  ac- 
tions. St.  Paul  travelled  over  the  world, 
preached  to  the  Gentiles,  disputed  against  the 
Jews,  confounded  heretics,  wrote  excellently 
learned  letters,  suffered   dangers,  injuries,  af- 


QUIET  RELIGION.  303 

fronts,  and  persecutions  to  the  height  of  won- 
der, and  by  these  violences  of  Hfe,  action,  and 
patience  obtained  the  crown  of  an  excellent 
religion  and  devotion.  But  the  holy  Virgin, 
althouD'h  she  was  engaged  sometunes  in  an 
active  life,  and  in  the  exercise  of  an  ordinarv 
and  small  economy  and  government,  or  min- 
istries of  a  family,  yet  she  arrived  to  her  per- 
fections by  the  means  of  a  quiet  and  silent 
piety,  the  internal  actions  of  love,  devotion, 
and  contemplation ;  and  instructs  us  that  not 
only  those  who  have  opportunity  and  powers 
of  a  magnificent  religion,  or  a  pompous  charity, 
or  miraculous  conversion  of  souls,  or  assidvious 
and  effectual  preachings,  or  exterior  demon- 
strations of  corporal  mercy,  shall  have  the 
greatest  crowns,  and  the  addition  of  degrees 
and  accidental  rewards  ;  but  the  silent  affec- 
tions, the  splendors  of  an  internal  devotion, 
the  unions  of  love,  humility,  and  obedience, 
the  daily  offices  of  prayer  and  praises  sung  to 
God,  the  acts  of  faith  and  fear,  of  patience  and 
meekness,  of  hope  and  reverence,  repentance 
and  charity,  and  those  graces  which  walk  in  a 
veil  and  silence,  make  great  ascents  to  God, 
and  as  sure  progress  to  favor  and  a  crown,  as 
the  more  ostentatious  and  laborious  exercises 
of  a  more  solemn  relio-ion.  No  man  needs  to 
complain  of  want  of  power  or  opportunities  for 
religious  perfections :  a  devout  woman  in  her 


304  THE  IMITATION   OF   CHRIST. 

closet,  praying  with  much  zeal  and  affections 
for  the  conversion  of  souls,  is  in  the  same  order 
to  a  "  shining  like  the  stars  in  glory,"  as  he 
who,  by  excellent  discourses,  puts  it  into  a 
more  forward  disposition  to  be  actually  per- 
formed. And  possibly  her  prayers  obtained 
energy  and  force  to  my  sermon,  and  made  the 
ground  fruitful,  and  the  seed  spring  up  to  life 
eternal.  Many  times  God  is  present  in  the 
still  voice  and  private  retirements  of  a  quiet 
religion,  and  the  constant  spiritualities  of  an 
ordinary  life  ;  when  the  loud  and  impetuous 
winds,  and  the  shining  fires  of  more  laborious 
and  expensive  actions,  are  profitable  to  others 
only,  Kke  a  tree  of  balsam,  distilling  precious 
liquor  for  others,  not  for  its  own  use. 


THE   IMITATION   OF   CHRIST. 

TT  is  reported  in  the  Bohemian  story  that  St. 
-*-  Wenceslaus,  their  king,  one  winter  night 
going  to  his  devotions,  in  a  remote  church, 
l^arefooted  in  the  snow  and  sharpness  of  une- 
qual and  pointed  ice,  his  servant  Podavivus, 
who  waited  upon  his  master's  piety  and  en- 
deavored to  imitate  his  affections,  began  to 
faint  through  the  violence  of  the  snow  and 
cold,  till  the  king  commanded  him  to  follow 


THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST.  305 

liim,  and  set  his  feet  in  the  same  footsteps 
which  his  feet  should  mark  for  him  :  the  ser- 
vant did  so,  and  either  fancied  a  cure  or  found 
one ;  for  he  followed  his  prince,  helped  forward 
with  shame  and  zeal  to  his  imitation  and  by 
the  forming  footsteps  for  him  in  the  snow.  In 
the  same  manner  does  the  blessed  Jesus ;  for, 
since  our  way  is  troublesome,  obscure,  full  of 
objection  and  danger,  apt  to  be  mistaken  and 
to  affright  our  industry,  he  commands  us  to 
mark  his  footsteps,  to  tread  where  his  feet  have 
stood,  and  not  only  invites  us  forward  by  the 
argument  of  his  example,  but  he  hath  trodden 
down  much  of  the  difficulty,  and  made  the  way 
easier  and  fit  for  our  feet.  For  he  knows  our 
infirmities,  and  himself  hath  felt  their  experi- 
ence in  all  things  but  in  the  neighborhoods  of 
sin  ;  and  therefore  he  hath  proportioned  a  way 
and  a  path  to  our  strengths  and  capacities,  and, 
like  Jacob,  hath  marched  softly  and  in  even- 
ness with  the  children  and  the  cattle,  to  enter- 
tain us  by  the  comforts  of  his  company  and 
the  influences  of  a  perpetual  guide. 

He  that  gives  alms  to  the  poor,  takes  Jesus 
by  the  hand ;  he  that  patiently  endures  injuries 
and  affronts,  helps  him  to  bear  his  cross ;  he 
that  comforts  his  brother  in  affliction,  gives  an 
amiable  kiss  of  peace  to  Jesus  ;  he  that  bathes 
his  own  and  his  neighbor's  sins  in  tears  of 
penance  and  compassion,  washes  his  Master's 
20 


306  THE  IMITATION   OF   CHRIST. 

feet :  we  lead  Jesus  into  the  recesses  of  our 
heart  by  holy  meditations  ;  and  we  enter  into 
his  heart  when  we  express  him  in  our  actions  : 
for  so  the  apostle  says,  "  He  that  is^  in  Christ, 
walks  as  he  also  walked."  But  thus  the  actions 
of  our  life  relate  to  him  by  way  of  worship  and 
rehgion ;  but  the  use  is  admirable  and  effectual 
when  our  actions  refer  to  him  as  to  our  copy, 
and  we  transcribe  the  original  to  the  life. 


THE   END. 


CAMBRIDGE :    PRINTED    BY    H.    0.    HOUGHTON. 


-C  South, 


tMiii'min?.'""^'  ^*'ary  Facili 


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